Part 29

While residing at Henderson in Kentucky, I became acquainted with a gentleman who had just returned from the country in the neighbourhood of the head waters of the Arkansas River, where he had purchased a newly caught “Wild Horse,” a descendant of some of the horses originally brought from Spain, and set at liberty in the vast prairies of the Mexican lands. The animal was by no means handsome:—he had a large head, with a considerable prominence in its frontal region, his thick and unkemt mane hung along his neck to the breast, and his tail, too scanty to be called flowing, almost reached the ground. But his chest was broad, his legs clean and sinewy, and his eyes and nostrils indicated spirit, vigour, and endurance. He had never been shod, and although he had been ridden hard, and had performed a long journey, his black hoofs had suffered no damage. His colour inclined to bay, the legs of a deeper tint, and gradually darkening below until they became nearly black. I inquired what might be the value of such an animal among the Osage Indians, and was answered, that the horse being only four years old, he had given for him, with the tree and the buffalo tug fastened to his head, articles equivalent to about thirty-five dollars. The gentleman added, that he had never mounted a better horse, and had very little doubt, that if well fed, he could carry a man of ordinary weight from thirty-five to forty miles a-day, for a month, as he had travelled at that rate upon him, without giving him any other food than the grass of the prairies, or the canes of the bottom lands, until he had crossed the Mississippi at Natchez, when he fed him with corn. Having no farther use for him, now that he had ended his journey, he said he was anxious to sell him, and thought he might prove a good hunting horse for me, as his gaits were easy, and he stood fire as well as any charger he had seen. Having some need of a horse possessed of qualities similar to those represented as belonging to the one in question, I asked if I might be allowed to try him. “Try him, Sir, and welcome; nay, if you will agree to feed him and take care of him, you may keep him for a month, if you choose.” So I had the horse taken to the stable and fed.

About two hours afterwards, I took my gun, mounted the prairie nag, and went to the woods. I was not long in finding him very sensible to the spur, and as I observed that he moved with great ease both to himself and his rider, I thought of leaping over a log several feet in diameter, to judge how far he might prove serviceable in deer-driving or bear-hunting. So I gave him the reins, and pressed my legs to his belly without using the spur, on which, as if aware that I wished to try his mettle, he bounded off and cleared the log as lightly as an elk. I turned him, and made him leap the same log several times, which he did with equal ease, so that I was satisfied of his ability to clear any impediment in the woods. I next determined to try his strength, for which purpose I took him to a swamp, which I knew was muddy and tough. He entered it with his nose close to the water, as if to judge of its depth, at which I was well pleased, as he thus evinced due caution. I then rode through the swamp in different directions, and found him prompt, decided, and unflinching. Can he swim well? thought I;—for there are horses, which, although excellent, cannot swim at all, but will now and then lie on their side, as if contented to float with the current, when the rider must either swim and drag them to the shore, or abandon them. To the Ohio then I went, and rode into the water. He made off obliquely against the current, his head well raised above the surface, his nostrils expanded, his breathing free, and without any of the grunting noise emitted by many horses on such occasions. I turned him down the stream, then directly against it, and finding him quite to my mind, I returned to the shore, on reaching which he stopped of his own accord, spread his legs, and almost shook me off my seat. After this I put him to a gallop, and returning home through the woods, shot from the saddle a turkey-cock, which he afterwards approached as if he had been trained to the sport, and enabled me to take it up without dismounting.

As soon as I reached the house of Dr RANKIN, where I then resided, I sent word to the owner of the horse that I should be glad to see him. When he came, I asked him what price he would take; he said, fifty dollars in silver was the lowest. So I paid the money, took a bill of sale, and became master of the horse. The Doctor, who was an excellent judge, said smiling to me, “Mr AUDUBON, when you are tired of him, I will refund you the fifty dollars, for depend upon it he is a capital horse.” The mane was trimmed, but the tail left untouched; the Doctor had him shod “all round,” and for several weeks he was ridden by my wife, who was highly pleased with him.

Business requiring that I should go to Philadelphia, Barro (he was so named after his former owner) was put up for ten days and well attended to. The time of my departure having arrived, I mounted him; and set off at the rate of four miles an hour;—but here I must give you the line of my journey, that you may, if you please, follow my course on some such map as that of TANNER’s. From Henderson through Russellville, Nashville, and Knoxville, Abington in Virginia, the Natural Bridge, Harrisonburgh, Winchester and Harper’s Ferry, Frederick and Lancaster to Philadelphia. There I remained four days, after which I returned by way of Pittsburgh, Wheeling, Zanesville, Chillicothe, Lexington, and Louisville to Henderson. But the nature of my business was such as to make me deviate considerably from the main roads, and I computed the whole distance at nearly two thousand miles, the post roads being rather more than sixteen hundred. I travelled not less than forty miles a-day, and it was allowed by the Doctor that my horse was in as good condition on my return as when I set out. Such a journey on a single horse may seem somewhat marvellous in the eyes of a European; but in those days almost every merchant had to perform the like, some from all parts of the western country, even from St Louis on the Missouri, although the travellers not unfrequently, on their return, sold their horses at Baltimore, Philadelphia, or Pittsburgh, at which latter place they took boat. My wife rode on a single horse from Henderson to Philadelphia, travelling at the same rate. The country was then comparatively new; few coaches travelled, and in fact the roads were scarcely fit for carriages. About twenty days were considered necessary for performing a journey on horseback from Louisville to Philadelphia, whereas now the same distance may be travelled in six or seven days, or even sometimes less, this depending on the height of the water in the Ohio.

It may be not uninteresting to you to know the treatment which the horse received on those journeys. I rose every morning before day, cleaned my horse, pressed his back with my hand, to see if it had been galled, and placed on it a small blanket folded double, in such a manner that when the latter was put on, half of the cloth was turned over it. The surcingle, beneath which the saddle-bags were placed, confined the blanket to the seat, and to the pad behind was fastened the great coat or cloak, tightly rolled up. The bridle had a snaffle bit; a breastplate was buckled in front to each skirt, to render the seat secure during an ascent; but my horse required no crupper, his shoulders being high and well-formed. On starting he trotted off at the rate of four miles an hour, which he continued. I usually travelled from fifteen to twenty miles before breakfast, and after the first hour allowed my horse to drink as much as he would. When I halted for breakfast, I generally stopped two hours, cleaned the horse, and gave him as much corn blades as he could eat. I then rode on until within half an hour of sunset, when I watered him well, poured a bucket of cold water over his back, had his skin well rubbed, his feet examined and cleaned. The rack was filled with blades, the trough with corn, a good-sized pumpkin or some hens’ eggs, whenever they could be procured, were thrown in, and if oats were to be had, half a bushel of them was given in preference to corn, which is apt to heat some horses. In the morning, the nearly empty trough and rack afforded sufficient evidence of the state of his health.

I had not ridden him many days before he became so attached to me that on coming to some limpid stream, in which I had a mind to bathe, I could leave him at liberty to graze, and he would not drink if told not to do so. He was ever sure-footed, and in such continual good spirits, that now and then, when a turkey happened to rise from a dusting place before me, the mere inclination of my body forward was enough to bring him to a smart canter, which he would continue until the bird left the road for the woods, when he never failed to resume his usual trot. On my way homewards I met at the crossings of the Juniata River a gentleman from New Orleans whose name is VINCENT NOLTE. He was mounted on a superb horse, for which he had paid three hundred dollars, and a servant on horseback led another as a change. I was then an utter stranger to him, and as I approached and praised his horse, he not very courteously observed that he wished I had as good a one. Finding that he was going to Bedford to spend the night, I asked him at what hour he would get there. “Just soon enough to have some trouts ready for our supper, provided you will join when you get there.” I almost imagined that Barro understood our conversation; he pricked up his ears, and lengthened his pace, on which Mr NOLTE caracolled his horse, and then put him to a quick trot, but all in vain, for I reached the hotel nearly a quarter of an hour before him, ordered the trouts, saw to the putting away of my good horse, and stood at the door ready to welcome my companion. From that day VINCENT NOLTE has been a friend to me. It was from him I received letters of introduction to the RATHBONES of Liverpool, for which I shall ever be grateful to him. We rode together as far as Shippingport, where my worthy friend NICHOLAS BERTHOUD, Esq. resided, and on parting with me he repeated what he had many times said before, that he never had seen so serviceable a creature as Barro.

If I recollect rightly, I gave a short verbal account of this journey, and of the good qualities of my horse, to my learned friend J. SKINNER, Esq. of Baltimore, who I believe has noticed them in his excellent Sporting Magazine. We agreed that the importation of horses of this kind from the Western Prairies might improve our breeds generally; and, judging from those which I have seen, I am inclined to think that some of them may prove fit for the course. A few days after reaching Henderson, I parted with Barro, not without regret, for a hundred and twenty dollars.

THE NIGHT HERON.

_ARDEA NYCTICORAX_, LINN.

PLATE CCXXXVI. ADULT MALE AND YOUNG.

The Night Heron is a constant resident in the Southern States, where it is found in abundance in the low swampy tracts near the coast, from the mouth of Sabine River to the eastern boundaries of South Carolina. On the whole of that vast extent of country, it may be procured at all seasons. The adult birds keep farther south than the young, flocks of the latter remaining in South Carolina during the whole winter, and there the Night Herons are at that period more common than most other species of the family. In that State it is named “the Indian Pullet,” in Lower Louisiana the Creoles call it “_Gros-bec_,” the inhabitants of East Florida know it under the name of “Indian Hen,” and in our Eastern States its usual appellation is “Qua Bird.”

In the course of my winter rambles through East Florida, I met with several of the large places of resort of Night Herons, and, in particular, one remarkable for the vast number of birds congregated there. It is about six miles below the plantation of my friend JOHN BULLOW, Esq., on a bayou which opens into the Halifax River. There several hundred pairs appeared to be already mated, although it was only the month of January; many of the nests of former years were still standing, and all appeared to live in peace and contentment. My friend JOHN BACHMAN is acquainted with a place on Ashley River, about four miles distant from Charleston, where, among the branches of a cluster of live-oak trees, he has for the last fifteen years found a flock of about fifty of these birds during the winter. They were all young, not a single individual having been observed in the adult plumage, which is the more remarkable, because it is usual for young birds to retreat farther south during winter than the old. It is very common at this period for the sportsmen near Charleston to take their stand along the margins of the salt-water ponds, to which the Herons generally resort about dusk; and they frequently obtain several shots in an evening, but not a single old bird is known to have been killed at this season.

The Night Heron seldom advances very far into the country, but remains on the low swampy lands along the coast. It is rare to see one farther up the Mississippi than the mouth of the Arkansas, to which a few are at times induced to go while rambling along the great stream. I never saw one, or heard of any, whilst in Kentucky, and I doubt much if they are ever seen in the upper parts of the State of Tennessee. The distance of a hundred miles from the tide-mark appears to be the farthest extent of their inland movements. On the other hand, they are fond of resorting to the islands along the coast, on many of which they breed.

At the approach of spring, great numbers of those which have wintered far south, leave their places of sojourn and migrate eastward, although probably an equal number remain in the low lands of Louisiana and the Floridas during the whole year. There, indeed, I have found them with eggs in April and May, and as young birds just fledged were very abundant at the same places, I concluded that these eggs were of the second laying. By the middle of March, the number of Night Herons is seen to increase daily in the Carolinas, and, about a month later, some make their appearance in the Middle Districts, where many remain and breed. They are not abundant in the State of New York, are seen sparingly breeding in Massachusetts, while only a few proceed to Maine, and farther eastward they are looked upon as a great curiosity. In Nova Scotia, Newfoundland, and Labrador, this species is quite unknown.

Some European writers have alleged, that the Night Heron is scarce in the United States, and of rare occurrence even in the southern parts. I wish these people had been with me and my friend BACHMAN, or with some of the many hundred persons who reside in the Southern Districts, or have travelled from Louisiana to North Carolina. How strange it would have appeared to such assertors of notions, to have seen a boatload of Night Herons shot in the course of a few hours, and that too in the winter season.

Excepting while breeding, this species is extremely shy and wary, especially the adults. To approach them from a distance after they have seen you, is no easy task. They seem to know the distance at which your gun can injure them, they watch all your movements, and at the proper moment leave their perches. Should you chance to crack a stick while advancing towards them, they start at once, give a few raps with their wings in the manner of the Common Pigeon, and fly off as if delighted at your disappointment. On the contrary, you may shoot them with ease, if you lie in wait near the places to which they resort to roost by day, and at which they generally arrive singly, or a few at a time, when, from your place of concealment among the trees, you may kill them the moment they alight over your head, and at a short distance. In this manner I have known forty or fifty procured by two sportsmen in the course of about two hours. You may also not unfrequently shoot them at any hour of the day, by starting them from secluded feeding-grounds, and thus I have shot a good many in different parts of the United States, and even in the Middle Districts. They are, however, rarely shot whilst on the ground, their hearing being still more acute than that of the American Bittern, which prefers squatting in the grass to flying off, when any noise is heard, whereas the Night Heron rises immediately.

This species breeds in communities around the stagnant ponds, either near rice plantations or in the interior of retired and secluded swamps, as well as on some of the sea islands covered with evergreen trees. Their heronries are formed either in low bushes, or in middle-sized or tall trees, as seems most convenient or secure. In the Floridas, they are partial to the mangroves that overhang the salt-water; in Louisiana, they prefer the cypresses; and in the Middle States, they find the cedars most suitable. In some breeding-places within a few miles of Charleston, which I visited in company with my friend JOHN BACHMAN, the nests were placed on low bushes, and crowded together, some within a yard of the ground, others raised seven or eight feet above it, many being placed flat on the branches, while others were in the forks. Hundreds of them might be seen at once, as they were built on the side of the bushes fronting the water. Those which I found in the Floridas were all placed on the south-west sides of mangrove islands, but were farther apart from each other, some being only about a foot above high-water mark, while others were in the very tops of the trees, which, however, scarcely exceeded twenty feet in height. In some inland swamps in Louisiana, I saw them placed on the tops of tall cypress trees about a hundred feet high, and along with those of _Ardea Herodias_, _A. alba_, and some Anhingas. In the Jerseys I have found the Night Herons breeding on water oaks and cedars; and my friend THOMAS NUTTALL informs me, that “in a very secluded and marshy island, in Fresh Pond, near Boston, there likewise exists one of these ancient heronries; and though the birds have been frequently robbed of their eggs, in great numbers, by mischievous boys, they still lay again immediately after, and usually succeed in raising a second brood.” The same accurate observer remarks, that “about the middle of October, the Qua Birds begin to retire from this part of Massachusetts, towards their southern winter quarters, although a few of the young birds still linger occasionally to the 29th or 30th of that month.” This last observation is a farther evidence of the reluctance which the young of this species feel to go as far south during winter as the old birds.

The nest of the Night Heron is large, flattish, and formed of sticks placed in different directions, sometimes to the height of three or four inches. At times it is arranged with so little care, that the young upset it before they are able to fly. Many of the nests are annually repaired, and these birds, when they have once found an agreeable settlement, return regularly to it, until some calamity forces them to abandon it. The full number of the eggs is four, and they measure at an average two inches and one-sixteenth by an inch and a half. They are thin-shelled, and of a plain light sea-green colour. In about three weeks after the young are hatched, most of them leave the nest, and crawl about the branches, to which they cling firmly, ascending to the tops of the bushes or trees, and there awaiting the return of their parents with food. If you approach them at such times, the greatest consternation ensues both among the young and the old birds; the loud and incessant croaking which both have until then kept up, suddenly ceases; the parent birds rise in the air, sail around and above you, some alighting on the neighbouring trees; while the young scramble off in all directions to avoid being taken. So great at times is their terror, that they throw themselves into the water, and swim off with considerable rapidity, until they reach the shore, when they run and hide in every convenient place. Retire for half an hour, and you will be sure to hear the old and the young calling to each other; the noise gradually increases, and in a short time is as loud as ever. The stench emitted by the excrements with which the abandoned nests, the branches and leaves of the trees and bushes, and the ground, are covered, the dead young, the rotten and broken eggs, together with putrid fish and other matters, renders a visit to these places far from pleasant. Crows, Hawks and Vultures torment the birds by day, while Racoons and other animals destroy them by night. The young are quite as good for eating as those of the Common Pigeon, being tender, juicy, and fat, with very little of the fishy taste of many birds which, like them, feed on fishes and reptiles. At this period few if any of the old birds have the long feathers of the hind head, and these are not reproduced before the latter part of the following winter, when they seem to attain their extreme length in a few weeks.

The flight of the Night Heron is steady, rather slow, and often greatly protracted. They propel themselves by regular flappings of the wings, and, like the true Herons, draw in their head on the shoulders, while their legs stretch out behind, and with the tail form a kind of rudder. When alarmed they at times rise high in the air, and sail about for a while. They sail in the same manner before alighting on their feeding grounds, which they rarely do without having previously attended to their security by alighting on the neighbouring trees and looking about them. Their migrations are performed under night, when their passage is indicated by their loud hoarse notes resembling the syllable _qua_, uttered at pretty regular intervals. On these occasions they appear to fly faster than usual.

On the ground, this bird exhibits none of the grace observed in all the true Herons; it walks in a stooping posture, the neck much retracted, until it sees its prey, when, with a sudden movement, it stretches it out and secures its food. It is never seen standing motionless, waiting for its prey, like the true Herons, but is constantly moving about in search of it. Its feeding places are the sides of ditches, meadows, the shady banks of creeks, bayous, and ponds or rivers, as well as the extensive salt-marshes and mud-bars left exposed at low water; and I have observed it to alight in the ponds in the suburbs of Charleston towards evening, and feed there. In all such situations, excepting the last, this bird may often be seen by day, but more especially in the evening or morning twilight, wading up to its ankles, or, as we commonly say, its knee-joints. Its food consists of fishes, shrimps, tadpoles, frogs, water-lizards, and leeches, small crustacea of all kinds, water insects, moths, and even mice, which seem not less welcome to it than its more ordinary articles of food. When satisfied, it retires to some high tree on the banks of a stream or in the interior of a swamp, and there it stands, usually on one leg, for hours at a time, apparently dosing, though seldom sound asleep.

When wounded, this bird first tries to make its escape by hiding among the grass or bushes, squatting the moment it finds what it deems a secure place; but if no chance of a safe retreat occurs, it raises its crest, ruffles its feathers, and, opening its bill, prepares to defend itself. It can bite pretty severely, but the injury inflicted by its bill is not to be compared with that produced by its claws, which on such occasions it uses with much effect. If you seize it, it utters a loud, rough, continued sound, and tries to make its escape whenever it perceives the least chance.