CHAPTER XX

AUDUBON'S ÆNEID, 1819-1824: WANDERINGS THROUGH THE WEST AND SOUTH

Pivotal period in Audubon's career—His spur and balance-wheel—Resort to portraiture—Taxidermist in the Western Museum—Settles in Cincinnati—History of his relations with Dr. Drake—Decides to make his avocation his business—Journey down the Ohio and Mississippi with Mason and Cummings—Experiences of travel without a cent of capital—Life in New Orleans—Vanderlyn's recommendations—Original drawings—Chance meeting with Mrs. Pirrie, and engagement as tutor at "Oakley"—Enchantments of West Feliciana—"My lovely Miss Pirrie"—The jealous doctor—Famous drawing of the rattlesnake—Leaves St. Francisville and is adrift again in New Orleans—Obtains pupils in drawing and is joined by his family—Impoverished, moves to Natchez, and Mrs. Audubon becomes a governess—Injuries to his drawings—The labors of years destroyed by rats—Teaching in Tennessee—Parting with Mason—First lessons in oils—Mrs. Audubon's school at "Beechwoods"—Painting tour fails—Stricken at Natchez—At the Percys' plantation—Walk to Louisville—Settles at Shippingport.

Audubon's failure at Henderson was the crucial turning point in his career. For the five years that immediately followed he led a peripatetic existence in the southern and western states, seldom tarrying long at one point, often leaving his family for months at a time, living from hand to mouth, but ever bent on perfecting those products of his hand and brain, his life studies of American birds and plants.

At this crisis Audubon could have accomplished nothing but for the intelligent devotion of his capable wife. Generous, emotional, inclined to be self-indulgent, Audubon needed both the example and the spur of a strong character such as his wife possessed, and at this time Lucy Audubon furnished both the motive power and the balance-wheel that were requisite for the development of her husband's genius. Without her zeal and self-sacrificing devotion the world would never have heard of Audubon. His budding talents eventually would have been smothered in some backwoods town of the Middle West or South. For the space of nearly twelve years, Mrs. Audubon, now as the head of a small private school, now as a governess in some friendly family who appreciated her worth, practically assumed the responsibility for the support and education of their children in order that her husband's hands might be free, and with her hard-earned savings was able to aid him materially in the prosecution of his labors. When relatives or friends upbraided him for not entering upon some form of lucrative trade, she recognized his genius and always came to his support, being fully persuaded that he was destined to become one of the great workers of the world. Whatever others may have said or done at that time, both Audubon and his wife were confident of the ultimate success of his mission. In short, the work in which the naturalist was engaged became a family interest, in which every member was destined sooner or later to bear a part.

Audubon recalled a somber incident of this time which he thought might furnish a lesson to mankind, and he shall relate it in his own words:

After our dismal removal from Henderson to Louisville, one morning when 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 you reached Louisville you were 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 those dark days I was being led to the development of the talents I loved, and which have brought so much enjoyment to us _all_....

At Shippingport Audubon was welcomed by his brother-in-law, Nicholas A. Berthoud. Wasting no time in vain regrets, he began doing portraits in crayon, and with such success that he was able to rent a modest apartment and have his family about him again. From no charges for his tentative efforts the price was gradually raised until he received five dollars or more a head; with the spread of his fame orders filled his hands, and he was called long distances to take likenesses of the dying or even of the dead. Audubon's facility in portraiture was a valuable resource, and it kept him from the starving line at many a pinch in later years.

Through the influence of friends the naturalist was offered a position as taxidermist at a museum which had just been started at Cincinnati; here his family joined him in the winter of 1819-20, and here he remained for nearly a year. The published accounts of this Cincinnati experience are strangely confused and have led to aspersions of bad faith which were, we believe, quite undeserved. "I was presented," said Audubon, "to the president of the Cincinnati College, Dr. Drake, and immediately formed an engagement to stuff birds for the museum there, in concert with Mr. Robert Best, an Englishman of great talent," adding that his salary was large; so industrious were they, to continue his account, "that in about six months we had augmented, arranged, and finished all that we could do," but they found to their sorrow "that the members of the College museum were splendid promisers and very bad paymasters."[275] It has been stated that Audubon got nothing from Dr. Drake, but that "Mrs. Audubon afterwards received four hundred dollars, of the twelve hundred due," and that the remainder was never paid.[276] This matter can now be fully cleared up, and it will appear that the Cincinnati College was in no way involved; Dr. Drake was not its president, although he drew its charter and was one of its trustees; the Museum in which the naturalist worked was an independent foundation; and Mrs. Audubon was probably paid in full for the service which her husband had rendered.

Audubon wrote in his journal in 1820, when this experience was fresh in his mind, that owing to his talent for stuffing fishes he entered the service of the Western Museum at a salary of $125 a month; he made no complaint at that time of any lack of pay. Moreover, on the day before he started on his cruise down the Ohio River on the 11th of October of that year, the Rev. Elijah Slack gave him a letter of introduction in which he said that Audubon had "been engaged in our museum for 3 to 4 months, and that his performances do honor to his pencil." Since Mr. Slack, like Dr. Drake, was one of the managers of the Western Museum, he must have known of Audubon's term of service. We are convinced that Dr. Daniel Drake,[277] whose character was above reproach and who was a keen naturalist himself, was Audubon's good friend, and that no misunderstanding ever rose between them. In writing offhand from memory, years after the events, Audubon misstated the facts but evidently without design.

In 1818 Dr. Drake organized the Western Museum Society, of which he said: "I have drawn up the constitution in such a manner as to make the institution a complete school for natural history, and hope to see concentrated in this place, the choicest natural and artificial curiosities in the Western Country." The first meeting of the Society was held in the summer of 1819, not long before Audubon was engaged to work for it. The membership fee was $50, a considerable sum for that period, but the enterprise was well patronized. It was in charge of a board of whom Dr. Drake was the moving spirit; another member, as we have seen, was Rev. Mr. Slack, who became the first president of the Cincinnati College, which was organized in 1818-19. The collections of the Museum were placed in one of the buildings of the College in order better to serve the students and public, which would account for some of the confusion noted above.

Dr. Drake's hands at this time were more than full; in October, 1819, he wrote to a friend: "The ties which bind me to the world at large seem every day to increase in strength and numbers. The crowd of mankind with whom I have some direct or indirect concern, thickens around me, and I see little prospect of more leisure, nor any of retirement and seclusion." At this juncture also, when Audubon and Best were working for his Museum, Dr. Drake was experiencing the first disastrous check in his energetic career. In January, 1820, in spite of the opposition and intrigue of professional rivals, he succeeded in organizing the Medical College of Ohio, and Robert Best became the assistant in chemistry and the curator of the Western Museum. Opposition did not abate, but instead of strangling the College which he had founded, the marplots succeeded in expelling the Doctor from its staff. At last, feeling obliged to leave the city, Dr. Drake accepted in 1823 a position in the rival medical school of Transylvania University, and thus became a colleague of Constantine Rafinesque. It will be seen that Audubon's engagement at Cincinnati fell in a troubled era, and the annoyance which he may have felt at lack of pay was probably no fault of the harassed doctor.

While at Cincinnati Audubon was obliged to resort to his crayon portraits; and he also started a drawing school, but it required all of Mrs. Audubon's skill in management to keep the family out of debt. In 1820 he began for the first time seriously to consider the possibility of publishing his drawings, and under the spur of this incentive began to exert himself as never before. He planned a long journey through the Middle West and South, his intention being to descend the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers, explore the country about New Orleans, and then proceed as far east as the Florida Keys; he wished also to ascend the Red River, cross Arkansas, and visit the Hot Springs, before returning again by river to Cincinnati. Lack of ready money was no drawback, for he was now confident of being able to live by his talents alone.

Accordingly, he left his wife to care for their two boys, and on October 12, 1820, started down river in a flatboat, bound for New Orleans. His companions on this journey were Captain Cummings,[278] an engineer who had been in the government service, to whom Audubon became much attached; Joseph R. Mason, a promising artist of eighteen, in the _rôle_ of pupil-assistant, and his dog "Dash." Although Audubon had no funds, he was careful to provide himself with letters to or from men of mark who could be of assistance to him and this custom was followed to good effect at a much later day. On this occasion he bore recommendations from William H. Harrison, who afterwards became President, to Governor Miller of Arkansas, and from Henry Clay, as well as his letter from Rev. Elijah Slack, in which it was stated that the naturalist was traveling to complete his collection of the birds of the United States which he intended to publish at some future time. Audubon also wrote a personal letter to Governor Miller, fully outlining his plans, and asking for information; he told the Governor that he had been working fifteen years, and that his drawings of birds and plants were all from nature and life-size, showing that the idea of publication which was afterwards realized was then fixed in his mind. Audubon kept a careful journal on this journey, which extended over a year, the last entry being for the close of 1821.[279]

As their flatboat stopped at many towns and plantations on the rivers, Audubon could hunt game and birds to his heart's content. Having resolved, as he said, never to draw from a stuffed specimen, he worked at every new bird with the greatest diligence. It seems almost incredible that he should never have met with the Hermit Thrush before this journey, yet under date of "Oct. 14, 1820," there is this entry: "We returned to our boat with a Wild Turkey, a Telltale Godwit and a Hermit Thrush, which was too much torn to make a drawing of it; this was the first time I had met with this bird, and I felt particularly mortified at its condition."[280]

Their visit to Natchez furnished Audubon with materials for at least two of his "Episodes."[281] This incident of his generosity may be taken as characteristic; finding that one of his companions was down at the heel and as short of ready money as himself, he sought out a shoemaker and offered to do a portrait of the man and his wife for two pairs of boots; the proposal was accepted forthwith, and he set to work; the sketches were finished in the course of two hours, and Audubon and his companion, having selected their boots, went on their way rejoicing.

Audubon left Natchez on December 31, 1820, on a keel boat belonging to his brother-in-law, Nicholas A. Berthoud, who accompanied him, and at one o'clock the steamer _Columbus_ hauled off from the landing and took them in tow. Towards evening, when they were looking up their personal belongings, the naturalist found to his dismay that a portfolio containing all of the drawings that he had made on the voyage down the river was missing. Letters were despatched to Natchez friends, but it was not until the 16th of March that his anxiety was relieved; the missing portfolio had been found and left at the office of _The Mississippi Republican_, whence it was forwarded on his order, and reached his hand on the 5th of April. "So very generous had been the finder of it," he said, "that when I carefully examined the drawings in succession, I found them all present and uninjured, save one, which had probably been kept by way of commission."

On New Year's Day, 1821, they came to at Bayou Sara, at the mouth of the inlet of that name, which later saw much of Audubon and his family. On the following day he made a likeness of the master of their craft, Mr. Dickenson, for which he was paid in gold; he also outlined two warblers by candle-light in order to have time to finish them on the morrow. The captain of their steamer in his anxiety to make haste had set them adrift at this point, and they were obliged to make their way as best they could, by aid of the current and oars, to the port of New Orleans, which was finally entered on Sunday, January 7, 1821.

Audubon landed at New Orleans without enough money to pay for a night's lodging, for someone had relieved him of the little he possessed, and he was obliged to pass several nights on the boat while looking for work. Undismayed by his financial straits, his first visit at daybreak on Monday was to the famous markets of the southern city, where he found dead birds exposed for sale in great numbers—mallard, teal, American widgeon, Canada and snow geese, mergansers, tell-tale god-wits, and even robins, bluebirds and red-wing blackbirds; he added that the prices were very dear.

Upon leaving Cincinnati Audubon had resolved upon making one hundred drawings of birds; this was actually accomplished, but only after repeatedly modifying his plans and working in more humble capacities than he was at first inclined to consider. On the 12th of January he wrote in his diary of meeting an Italian painter at the theater, and of showing him his drawing of the White-headed Eagle[282] at the rooms of Mr. Berthoud; "he was much pleased," and took him "to his painting apartment at the theater, then to the directors, who very roughly offered me one hundred dollars per month to paint with Monsieur l'Italien. I believe really now that my talents must be poor," said Audubon. His refusal of this offer in view of his straitened circumstances, and the entry which followed, were characteristic: "Jan. 13th, 1821. I rose up early, tormented by many disagreeable thoughts, again nearly without a cent, in a bustling city where no one cares a fig for a man in my situation." The following day Audubon applied to a self-taught portrait painter, John W. Jarvis, and after showing his drawings, was engaged to assist him in finishing the "clothing and ground"; but this artist's manners were declared to be so uncouth and the pay so poor that he left him in disgust.

When he had made a hit, as he said, with the likeness of a well known citizen, orders came to him, and he was able to resume his drawing of birds. On February 22 he recorded that he had spent his time in "running after orders for portraits, and also in vain endeavors to obtain a sight of Alexander Wilson's 'Ornithology,' but was unsuccessful in seeing the book, which is very high priced." Later, however, he appears to have succeeded in this quest, for on the 17th of that month he was able to send his wife twenty drawings of birds, eight of which were marked as "not described by Willson." Among them were the originals of some of the most famous of his plates, such as the Great-footed Hawk, the White-headed Eagle, and the Hen Turkey.[283] Having seen in a newspaper a notice of an expedition which the Government was about to send to the Pacific Coast, to survey the boundary of the territory that had been recently ceded by Spain, Audubon became much excited over a possible appointment as draughtsman and naturalist. He sat down at once and wrote a personal letter to President Monroe, while hundreds of imaginary birds of new and interesting kinds seemed to come within the range of his gun; on the 31st of March he was still pondering on the project, and although it is not likely that his letter ever reached the eye of the President, he did receive a recommendation from Governor Robertson of Louisiana. It was with this expedition in view that he sought an interview with John Vanderlyn,[284] an eminent painter of historical subjects, then working in New Orleans; according to one version Vanderlyn treated him as a mendicant, and ordered him to lay down his portfolio in the lobby, but ended by giving him a very complimentary note, in which he praised his drawings without stint, particularly his studies of birds.

During the five months spent at New Orleans in 1821, Audubon attempted to support himself and his companion by means of their artistic talents, while he was pushing forward his ambitious design of figuring all of America's birds and most characteristic plants. That he received scant encouragement but many rebuffs is not surprising. They did succeed in obtaining a few pupils in drawing, and Audubon made a number of rapid portraits, but after living for a time on Ursuline Street, near the old Convent, and later shifting from one quarter to another, their finances had reached so low an ebb by the beginning of June that a move was imperative. Audubon then decided to go to Shippingport, Kentucky, and on the 16th of June, with young Mason, he again boarded the steamer _Columbus_, John D'Hart, captain, and started up river. An incident now occurred which affected the naturalist's whole after life by introducing him to one of the most favored spots in Louisiana, if not in the whole country, for the study of bird life, not to speak of the impressions which the charm of new scenery, a rich flora, and natural products of the most varied description must have then made on his mind. Mrs. James Pirrie, wife of a prosperous cotton planter of West Feliciana Parish, happened to be their fellow-passenger. Doubtless her curiosity was piqued by the winning manners and flowing locks of the artistic traveler, whose Gallic accent at once betrayed his nationality. Whether Audubon had made her acquaintance previous to this journey or not is not known, but before it was ended his fine enthusiasm and ambitious plans had found a sympathizer, and he was engaged as tutor to Mrs. Pirrie's daughter at $60 a month. To further his ornithological pursuits it was understood that he and his companion should live at "Oakley," her husband's plantation, five miles from St. Francisville, on Bayou Sara, and that one-half of his time should be absolutely free for hunting and drawing. Thus, on June 18, 1821, was forged the link that bound the heart of Audubon to the State which was first in his affections, and which he would fain believe might have been the scene of his nativity. Well may the Louisianians of today adopt him as their son, for from that early time he cherished their State as in a peculiar sense his own.

It was a hot and sultry day when our wanderers landed at Bayou Sara,[285] a small settlement at the junction of the sluggish stream which bears that name and the Mississippi, and proceeded to climb to St. Francisville, the village a mile away on the hill. Mrs. Pirrie, who seems to have preceded the travelers by carriage, sent some of her servants to relieve them of their luggage, which Audubon said they found light. They rested in the village at the house of Mr. Benjamin Swift, where they were invited to stay to dinner, then at the point of being served, but feeling somewhat ill at ease, they thanked their host and again took to the road. Following their leisurely guides, they now traversed a country so new, so strange, and so enchanting, that the five miles to the Pirrie house seemed short indeed. "The rich magnolias, covered with fragrant blossoms, the holly, the beech, the tall yellow poplar, the hilly ground, and even the red clay," to quote Audubon's record made at the time, "all excited my admiration. Such an entire change in the face of nature, in so short a time, seems almost supernatural, and surrounded once more by numerous warblers and thrushes, I enjoyed the scene."

In passing up the Mississippi from New Orleans, the topography of the country suddenly changes at about this point; in the parish of West Feliciana the alluvial lowlands of the river valley give place to beautiful highlands, which still harbor as rich and distinctive a flora and fauna as in Audubon's day. Following Audubon's course in June, 1916, or ninety-five years later, Mr. Arthur found the region about St. Francisville wonderfully rich in birds, and there noted seventy-eight resident kinds which were seen on the same day, from shortly before noon to seven o'clock in the evening.

Upon reaching the plantation house, Audubon and his companion were kindly received by the Scotchman, James Pirrie, who introduced to them his daughter, Eliza, then a beautiful and talented girl of seventeen—"my lovely Miss Pirrie, of Oakley," as Audubon once characterized her in his journal—who was to become his pupil in drawing, and who, as after events proved, was destined to a romantic and checkered career.

The "Oakley" house, which by a strange turn of fortune's wheel thus became the naturalist's home in the summer of 1821, has changed but little since that time, but the century that has nearly sped its course has added strength and beauty to the moss-hung oaks which now encompass it and temper the heat of the southern sun in the double-decked galleries which adorn its whole front. Built of the enduring cypress, as my correspondent remarks, the house stands as firm and sound as the gaunt but living sentinels of that order which tower from the brake not far away.

Audubon spent nearly five months at the Pirrie estate. He worked with great ardor at his _Ornithology_ and produced the originals of many of his plates that were afterwards published, while his assistant, Joseph Mason, who had followed him from Cincinnati, labored with equal diligence at the plants that were chosen as a setting for the birds.[286] An early drawing of the Chuck Will's Widow is dated "Red River, June, 1821," and it is probable that he followed this stream into Arkansas, for on leaving Cincinnati in the autumn of the previous year, he had planned to enter that State, and later references in his journals clearly imply that this object was attained. Another favorite hunting ground was Thompson's Creek, and he often recalled its heated banks, where, on a Fourth of July, he once satisfied his hunger by "swallowing the roasted eggs of a large soft shelled turtle."

On August 11, 1821, while Audubon was living at "Oakley," he made this entry in his journal:

Watched all night by the dead body of a friend of Mrs. P——; he was not known to me, and he had literally drunk himself to an everlasting sleep. Peace to his soul! I made a good sketch of his head, as a present for his poor wife. On such occasions time flies very slow indeed, so much so that it looked as if it stood still, like the hawk that poises over its prey.

In the same journal also, for August 25, occurs a record which throws light on one of Audubon's most discussed and questionable pictures, that of the mocking-birds defending their jessamine-embowered nest from the sinister designs of a rattlesnake;[287] little did he think at the time how much discord this venomous reptile, when coiled in the branches of a tree, could later breed.[288] The entry was:

Finished drawing a very fine specimen of a rattlesnake, which measured five feet and seven inches, weighed six and a quarter pounds, and had ten rattles. Anxious to give it a position most interesting to a naturalist, I put it in that which the reptile commonly takes when on the point of striking madly with its fangs. I had examined many before, and especially the position of the fangs along the superior jaw-bones, but had never seen one showing the whole [of the fangs] exposed at the same time.

He then described the generous provision which nature has made to keep the rattlesnake in fighting trim, by giving it a dental arsenal on which it can draw in case of loss; he added that the heat of the day was such that he could devote only sixteen hours to the drawing.

At this time Audubon was a handsome and attractive man; his pupil, who did not enjoy the best of health, was attended by a young physician who was also her lover. It is not surprising therefore to learn that jealousy on the part of the doctor led to a misunderstanding, and that the naturalist suddenly made his departure and returned to New Orleans. In recording this incident Audubon could not repress his amusement at the prescription of the physician, who ordered the young lady to abstain from all writing and drawing for a period of four months, but meanwhile permitted her to eat anything which pleased her fancy, in spite of the relapses of fever that occasionally occurred. Audubon was allowed to see her only at appointed hours, as if, he said, he were an extraordinary ambassador to some distant court, and was obliged to preserve the utmost decorum of manner; he expressed the belief that he had not once laughed in the presence of the young lady during the entire term of his tutorial engagement, which lasted from the 18th of June to the 21st of October. Later, in December of the same year, when his former pupil passed him without recognition in the streets of New Orleans, he indulged in the reflection that she had apparently quite forgotten the great pains with which at her own request he had done her portrait in pastels, but, thanks to his talents, he thought that he could run the gauntlet of the world without her help.[289]

At New Orleans Audubon soon found new pupils, particularly through the aid of Mr. R. Pamar and Mr. William Braud,[290] who came to his assistance, Mrs. Braud and her son paying him at the rate of three dollars for a lesson of one hour. On November 10, 1821, he wrote:

Continued my close application to my ornithology, writing every day, from morning until night, omitting no observations, correcting, re-arranging from my notes and measurements, and posting up; particularly all my land birds. The great many errors I found in the work of Wilson astonished me. I try to speak of them with care, and as seldom as possible, knowing the good will of that man, and the vast many hearsay accounts he depended on.

Again, on the 25th of that month is this entry:

Since I left Cincinnati I have finished 62 drawings of birds and plants, 3 quadrupeds, 2 snakes, fifty portraits of all sorts, and the large one of Father Antonio,[291] besides giving many lessons, and I have made out to send money to my wife sufficient for her and my Kentucky lads, and to live in humble comfort with only my talents and industry, without _one cent_ to begin on. I sent a draft to my wife, and began to live in New Orleans with forty-two dollars, health, and much anxiety to pursue my plan of collecting all the birds of America.

The close of the year 1821 found Audubon teaching a few pupils at New Orleans, where, he said, his style of work and the large prices he received caused him the ill will of every artist in the city. The figure which he cut in the streets, with his loose dress of nankeen and long, flowing locks, made him wish to appear like other people, and he was soon able to rejoice in a new suit of clothes. Though still in need of work, when he was asked to aid in painting a panorama of New Orleans, he refused, begrudging the time, saying that he did not wish to see any other perspective than that of the last of his drawings.

Having been from home for over a year, Audubon now wished to have his family about him again.[292] His plan did not appeal to his practical wife, who had many friends at Cincinnati, where she was assured of a good income through her teaching; Mrs. Audubon also felt that to be constantly shifting about was anything but favorable to the education of their children. Her reluctance, however, gave way, and in December she joined her husband in New Orleans, but only to find that the city could afford them no settled means of support. The situation of the Audubon family during the winter of 1821-22 became precarious in the extreme, and for two months Audubon gave up his habit of journalizing, one reason being that he could not afford the paltry sum necessary to buy a blank book for this purpose.

Compelled at last to make a new move, Audubon started for Natchez, on the 16th of March, 1822, paying for his passage on the steamer _Eclat_ by doing a crayon portrait of the captain and his wife. It was while going up the river at this time that he opened a chest containing two hundred of his drawings to find them sadly damaged by the breaking of a bottle of gunpowder, but the loss then sustained was apparently slight in comparison with that which he had experienced in an earlier disaster. To follow his account of this earlier and better known incident, when leaving Henderson for Philadelphia, he carefully placed all of his drawings in a wooden box and entrusted them to the care of a friend, with injunction that no harm should befall them; upon returning several months later, his treasure chest was opened, but only to reveal that "a pair of Norway rats had taken possession of the whole, and had reared a young family amongst the gnawed bits of paper, which but a few months before represented nearly a thousand inhabitants of the air." The heat that was immediately felt in his head, said the naturalist, was too great to be endured, and the days that followed were days of oblivion to him; but upon recuperation he took up his gun, his notebook and his pencils, "and went forth to the woods as gaily as if nothing had happened"; after a lapse of three years his portfolio was again filled, and the earlier work replaced by better. Audubon's drawings and plates were also repeatedly ravaged by fires, but this was at a much later day.

While Audubon was engaged in teaching French, music, or drawing, now to private pupils at Natchez, now in a school at Washington, Mississippi, nine miles away, the summer of 1822 passed with the outlook as ominous as ever. On August 23 he wrote: "My friend, Joseph Mason, left me today, and we experienced great pain at parting. I gave him paper and chalks to work his way with, and the double barrelled-gun ... which I had purchased in Philadelphia in 1805." Mason, who, for a year and nine months, was Audubon's aid and constant companion, seems to have settled eventually as an artist in Philadelphia, where we hear of him in 1824 and again in 1827.[293]

In the following December Audubon received a fresh impetus towards the goal of his ambition by the arrival at Natchez of a traveling portrait painter, named John Stein, who gave him his first lessons in the use of oils; his initial attempt was the copy of an otter from one of his own drawings. Audubon and Stein together later painted a full-length portrait of Father Antonio which was sent to Havana. Artists who have worked long in one medium are not always successful in another, but those who have seen some of Audubon's later and better works in oil, such as his large canvas of the Wild Turkeys,[294] must admit that he attained a high degree of skill. As will be seen, this acquisition was a strong string to his bow; when in England his brush helped largely to pay for the issue of his early plates.

Mrs. Audubon, who joined her husband in New Orleans on December 8, 1821, soon felt obliged to seek employment. She engaged as nurse or governess in the family of Mr. Braud, presumably the same whose wife and son had received instruction in drawing from the naturalist the previous autumn, and remained with that family until September, 1822, when the death of the child that was placed in her charge left her free to follow her husband to Natchez. After attempting a similar position in the home of a clergyman there and finding it impossible to obtain her salary, in January, 1823, she was invited by the Percys to West Feliciana,[295] then a prosperous cotton district, at the apex of the salient made by the neighboring state of Mississippi and bordered on two sides by the great river. Her worth was evidently appreciated, for she was encouraged to establish a private school on the Percys' plantation, which she conducted successfully for five years.

Captain Robert Percy, who before coming to America in 1796 had been an officer in the British Navy, was living at this time with his wife and five children at their plantation of "Weyanoke," on Big Sara Creek, fifteen miles from St. Francisville; this town, owing to its large shipments of cotton, was then at the height of prosperity, and its population no doubt exceeded that of the present day; it now stands at about one thousand souls. Letters and journals of the period constantly refer to "Beechwoods," which was not the mansion house, though it undoubtedly belonged to the Robert Percy estate. There it was that the wife of the naturalist lived, and there she started her school, for the benefit not only of the Percy boys and girls, but also of a limited number of children of their wealthy neighbors; her own son, John Woodhouse Audubon, then eleven years of age, at this time received instruction at her hands. The parish of West Feliciana, at this early period, was one of the richest cotton-producing sections of the entire State; its care-free planters led an easy life until the "king" was unceremoniously dethroned by a small, but not insignificant insect which has proved mightier than either fire or sword, namely, the boll-weevil; now many a fine old estate which has languished under the influence of the pest could probably be bought for a song. "Beechwoods," thus devoted to educational purposes, later came into the hands of Thomas Percy, but the house, like that of "Weyanoke," was long since burned to the ground.

While Mrs. Audubon was establishing her rules and authority at the Percy school, the naturalist was painting with Stein at Natchez, and he remained there with his elder son until the spring of 1823. At this period he wrote in his journal: "I had finally determined to break through all bonds, and follow 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."

In March, 1823, Audubon and friend Stein bought a horse and wagon, and in the hope of raising money through their joint efforts as itinerant portrait painters, set out with Victor on a tour of the Southern States. This venture, however, did not succeed, and after visiting Jackson and a number of other towns, they disbanded at New Orleans. Audubon then started north with his son for Louisville, but upon paying a visit to his wife at the "Beechwoods" school, he was invited by the Percys to remain there for the summer and "teach the young ladies music and drawing." According to a tradition which has survived among the Percy descendants, Audubon spent most of his time in roaming through the woods, but he also taught his wife's pupils to swim in the large spring house at "Weyanoke," where the water could be deepened at pleasure. It was also said that he painted the Wild Turkeys in the woods of Sleepy Hollow near by, but I have already given Audubon's own record in regard to one of these pictures, and, as Mr. Arthur remarks, the places in Louisiana where he drew these famous subjects are as numerous as the beds in which Lafayette slept when at New Orleans.

Audubon remained with the Percys during the greater part of the summer, or until some misunderstanding arose, when he was again adrift and upon a sea of difficulties. While visiting a plantation near Natchez, both he and Victor were stricken with fever; his faithful wife hastened to them, and after nursing both back to health, she returned with them to the Percy plantation, where they remained from the 8th to the 30th of September.

In the autumn of 1823 Audubon was determined to visit Philadelphia, in the hope of finding a sponsor for his "Ornithology." Although the work was then far from ready for publication, he felt that at least he might better his condition, and with this end in view he sent his drawings from Natchez to that city; a hasty visit was made also to New Orleans, for the purpose, no doubt, of obtaining credentials to possible patrons in the East. At last, on October 3, he started with Victor on the steamer _Magnet_[296] for Louisville. Low water quickly held them up after entering the mouth of the Ohio, and they were obliged to disembark at the little village of Trinity, at the mouth of Cash Creek, the scene of Audubon's misadventures with Rozier thirteen years before. The remoteness of the situation and the state of their funds, which corresponded with that of the river, left no alternative but to walk, and they undertook to reach Louisville, several hundred miles distant, afoot. Two other travelers joined them, and with Victor, then a lad of nearly fourteen, the party left the creek at noon on October 15 and struck across country through the forests and canebrakes. At Green River, which was reached on the 21st, Victor gave out from sheer exhaustion,[297] and the remainder of the journey was finished in a Jersey wagon. At length, said Audubon, "I entered Louisville with thirteen dollars in my pocket." At Shippingport, then an independent town at the Falls of the Ohio, he was obliged to settle down for the winter. A place for Victor was found in the counting-house of Nicholas A. Berthoud, while the father undertook anything that came to hand, painting portraits, landscapes, panels for river boats, and even street signs, so hard pressed was he at times to eke out a subsistence for them both. Yet Audubon was as sanguine as ever, and on November 9 he recorded the resolution "to paint one hundred views of American scenery," and added: "I shall not be surprised to find myself seated at the foot of Niagara," a prediction which was fulfilled in the following year.

During the winter spent at Shippingport, Audubon lost a gentle friend in Madame Berthoud,[298] the mother of Nicholas. In his journal for January 20, 1824, we read his emotional words:

I arose this morning by the transparent light which is the effect of the moon before dawn, and saw Dr. Middleton passing at full gallop towards the white house; I followed—alas! my old friend was dead!... many tears fell from my eyes, accustomed to sorrow. It was impossible for me to work; my heart, restless, moved from point to point all round the compass of my life. Ah Lucy! what have I felt to-day! ... I have spent it thinking, thinking, learning, weighing my thoughts, and quite sick of life. I wished I had been as quiet as my venerable friend, as she lay for the last time in her room.