Wednesdays with Audubon, Chapter 11

We left a soggy and stagnant Audubon stuck for 5 days without a favorable wind as he travelled through the Labrador Islands. I can only imagine the excruciating frustration of heading out on an epic, expensive trip of Summer birding, and having to spend 5 days inside a cramped boat. Salvation came the morning of June 29th and they set off towards American Harbor (I'm not really sure what or where that is).

Along the way they passed many small and rocky islands, almost all of which were dominated by a single nesting species, be it the Common Puffin, Razorbilled Auk, or Cormorants. They travelled some 50 miles in choppy seas before dropping anchor. Tired of his forced drawing for nearly the last week (forced in the sense that there was nothing else to do), Audubon was quickly off the boat and exploring this new, more diminutive portion of the Labrador coastline. He collected a few specimens, including the "Shore Lark (Horned Lark) and spent the afternoon pondering the identity of a dead, starved, and semi-frozen "snowbird" that he had never seen nor heard of before.

They spent the next few days mostly collecting the eggs of the Common Cormorant and American Ring Plover that nested near the shore. I wonder at times why they wanted so many eggs. What does one do with several hundred dozen cormorant eggs, other than drink eggnog while eating omelets topped with scrambled eggs and a small side of poached eggs.

Anyway, Audubon's painting of the Cormorants is beautiful.

On July 2nd Audubon took several men to begin a more thorough exploration of Labrador, which captivated Audubon with it's peculiar and specialized landscape: "The country, so wild and grand, is of itself enough to interest any one in its wonderful dreariness. Its mossy, gray-clother rocks, heaped and thrown together as if by chance, in the most fantastical groups imaginable, huge masses hanging on minor ones as if about to roll themselves down from their double-looking situation into the depths of the sea beneath. Bays without end dot the landscape, sprinkled with rocky islands where in every fissure some bird or another retreats to secure its brood."

The focus for July 4th and 5th was on the Great Northern Diver and Red-Necked Diver with Audubon acquiring his first specimens of these Loons as well as some unexpected Ptarmigan, which one of the more impertinent sailors tried to sneakily eat in the night, for which he was soundly beaten in the morning.

On July 5th Audubon also made an interesting observation about the breeding and molting birds up in Labrador: "The Scoter Ducks, of which I have seen many this day, were partially molted, and could fly only a short distance, and must be either barren or the young bachelors, as I find parents in full plumage, convincing me that these former molt earlier than the breeding Ducks. I have observed this strange fact so often now that I shall say no more about it; I have found it in nearly all the species of the birds here. I do not know of any writer on the history of birds having observed this curious fact before. I have now my hands full of work, and go to bed delighted..."

I wonder. Is this really the case with Scoters and other breeding waterfowl? Do the young or non-mating birds molt at a different time than the parent birds? Interesting stuff either way.

Wednesdays with Audubon, Chapter 10

John James Audubon spent all of June 18th aboard the boat, arranging and drawing his specimens as best he could while observing many different gulls from the boat. It is interesting to read that, for a while, he continued to misidentify the Herring Gulls as immature Greater Black-Backed. Audubon though to himself, "knowing the tyrannical disposition of the L. marinus (Black-Backed), I am sure they would not suffer a species almost as powerful as themselves in their immediate neighborhood. They fly together, but the white ones do not alight on the rocks where the marinus has its nest."
 Even the great ones have trouble with Gull identification!

 Audubon continued to catch up on his drawings of Guillemots and Gulls throughout the next few days, even as the weather improved such that they were getting some 18 hours of sunlight each day at 55 degrees fahrenheit (perfect!). His men continued to explore the surrounding rocky islands, having little luck collecting specimens of the Eider and Terns that were breeding, but nonetheless collecting many varieties of eggs, some of which Audubon notes as being delicious, and some as not.

It's interesting to juxtapose Audubon's naturalist intentions with his very direct and fatal approach to collecting his specimens. Of course back then there were few endangered species, and preserving some of these wild populations was of little concern to either Audubon or the general public. Despite his apparent callousness, Audubon was very aware of the delicate balance. With a clear disdain, he comments on some evidence he and his men found of "egging" expeditions: "The eggers (people who would take and sell large quantities of the eggs in the southern towns) confiscate or destroy all of the eggs that are sat upon, to force the birds to lay again, and by robbing them regularly, they lay till nature is exhausted, and few young are raised. In less than half a century these wonderful nurseries will be entirely destroyed, unless some kind government will interfere to stop the destruction."

For the next five days Audubon and his men sat at harbor rather despondently, waiting for a favorable wind to carry them on to new adventures. They had naught but a few Gulls and the eternally noisy seals for company, who seemed to relish and taunt the sailors' immobility. Audubon did meet with some luck on the shore, where he shot and collected his first Canada Jays (Gray Jay) and Ruby-Crowned Kinglets for the year.

Hopefully when we return to JJ Audubon next week, he will finally receive that fortunate wind, and keep the birds coming.

Wednesdays with Audubon, Chapter 9

As a matter of manners and thanks, Audubon and his men conducted some business on Magdalene island before departing. They bought over-priced, low quality animals skins (in Audubon's developed opinion), a few other provisions, and proceeded along the archipelago about 18 miles in search of nesting Mergansers and Geese. Along the way they stopped to collect Black Guillemot eggs, which turned out to be quite an undertaking. The birds lay their eggs on bare coastal/cliff rock, just above the high-water mark, and are very staunch defenders of their nurseries. It's a fun image, these heavy-laden sailors slipping and sprawling on the wet and poo-plastered rocks as the cold waves break and spray with the protesting birds.

Before they reached the waterfowl lakes on the eastern extremity of the Magdalene Archipelago, the Audubon crew caught a very favorable wind towards Labrador Island, and they changed course without much debate. Their new heading took them into line with the many trails of Gannets all heading to some unseen breeding ground. Some of them hung noticeably low in the air, no doubt gorged with fishy bits for their waiting mates and young. The birds were heading towards a large, snowy monolith that rose out of the churning water. As the men drew closer, Audubon realized with great elation that it was not snow at all which covered the rock, but Gannets. Thousands and thousands of Gannets:

"I rubbed my eyes, took my spy-glass, and in an instant the strangest picture stood before me. They were birds we saw--a mass of birds such a size as yet I never before cast my eyes on. The whole of my party stood astounded and amazed, and all came to the conclusion that such a sight was of itself sufficient to invite any one to come across the Gulf to view it as this season."

To Audubon's dismay, they were unable to bring the ship/row-boats in close enough to land on Gannet Rock. After a few dangerous and futile attempts, the mournful crew pressed on. Many of the men spent the next few days in a state of poor health, no doubt brought on by their fool-hardy pursuit of the Gannet roost in cold and stormy conditions. They sailed on through the rain and reached the island of Anticosti on June 15th. They spent the 16th recovering and fishing for cod, and at 5 am on June 17th they first sighted the shores of Labrador.

Thousands of Razor-Billed Auks and Velvet Ducks (Velvet Scoter) escorted them in towards the island, and they soon found a harbor where several Hudson Bay Company fishing boats were moored. After saying hello to a few friends, they continued on to an American harbor. When they dropped anchor around latitude 50, it was farther north that Audubon had ever been before. Despite this auspicious beginning, the initial explorations were somewhat disappointing. The island was covered in a thick, spongy moss that spread over any and all exposed earth. The trees were haggard and wiry, presenting only a single Pigeon Hawk as game for the men.

They continued to sail around the island and made anchor again at noon, where Audubon gathered specimens of Eider Ducks, and began to catch up on his neglected drawings, before his previously gathered specimens started to spoil. It has been a trip of mostly pelagic sightings so far. I'm sure that Audubon and his crew were eager to spend some time ashore, and so am I.

Wednesdays with Audubon, Chapter 8

After a somewhat slow and shaky start, Audubon and his help were making their way through the Labrador Islands and towards the gulf of St. Lawrence. Some of the islands were dotted with rundown shacks and smokehouses. The boreal air held a heavy stillness that wass only occasionally broken by the call of some pelagic bird echoing through the misty sky. Apart from the occasional sighting of a fishing boat, the men were isolated. It must have been eery and unsettling at times, while wonderfully freeing at others.

On June 11th they passed through Cape George and Cape Porcupine, where the ice was still well-formed. They stopped near the Porcupine shoreline to trade with some Indians, and Audubon also came upon some Chimney Swallows and Blue Jays.

The St. Lawrence Gulf was a bit more settled than the outer islands. Little hamlets dotted the emergent green hills as they undulated into the distance, textured here and there with the recognizable rows of cultivation. Audubon and his crew put in at Jestico Island, which was speckled with wild strawberries and enhanced by the flurried activity of American Redstarts and Tawny Thrushes. About the Redstarts Audubon writes: "This is one of the most lively, as well as one of the handsomest, of our Flycatchers, and ornaments our woods during spring and summer, when it cannot fail to attract the attention of any person who may visit the interior of the shady forests."

          

They also observed mating pairs of Spotted Sandpipers, Guillemot, and Great Blue Heron. 

They collected black currants and the sailors killed a seal for dinner, while Audubon observed a pair of Red-Breasted Mergansers, "that had glutted themselves with fish so that they were obliged to disgorge before they could fly off."

June 12th was spent navigating from Cape Breton to the Amherst Islands in very heavy fog. Despite his father's prowess, Audubon was not much of a sailor. He spent most of his time sullenly below decks while they navigated the tricky sandbars that often linked the tiny isles. On June 13th the temperature dropped down to 40 degrees, a dip for which Audubon and his crew were poorly prepared. They went ashore Magdalene Island where they were met on the beach, much to their surprise, by a wild-looking woman who spoke about a third French, a third English, and a third of some other jargon Audubon claims neither he nor any of his crewmen could decipher. The woman nonetheless led them to a small Catholic Church, where, to their surprise, they were caught up in the middle of a La Petite Fete de Dieu (translate 'small party of God'?) festival. Despite the harsh conditions of the island and the apparent poverty of its populace, Audubon & Co. were treated to French wine and fresh herring. While the less ornithologically inclined made pleasant company inside the chapel, Audubon followed the preliminary rays of sun out into a nearby wood. He observed "Black-Capped Warblers" (I'm not sure if this would be a Black-Capped Chickadee or Black-Capped Vireo?), and Audubon gathered his first specimens of Piping Plover.

Audubon recorded: "So plaintive is the note of this interesting species that I feel great aversion to killing them. They are also the swiftest of foot of any water-birds, which I know, of their size." 

He later added in his Birds of America, "While migrating eastward, the Piping Plovers proceed in pairs; and should one of these on its way find a convenient place for breeding, and remain there, several others are often induced to take up their abode in the neighborhood."

It's not one of my favorite illustrations, but he gives a pretty charming account of the birds. I wonder what sorts of joy Audubon would have found with a digital camera on these expeditions, the greatest advantage of which is that it would spare the birds? Of course, one could argue that Audubon would be able to paint from photographs and memory, but what if that were not an option? I wonder, if he were forced for some reason to choose between photographs and his painting, which would he pick? As I've said before, there's something irreplaceably more personal in these painted renditions of the birds, even if they're only second-hand likenesses.  

Wednesdays with Audubon, Chapter 7

The next several posts will focus on Audubon's trip to the Labrador Islands, one of the most dangerous and important voyages in his career. After the fairly successful publication of Audubon's Birds of America, it was essential that he quickly gather more and new species to document before he lost momentum. That is, before his name ceased to be the toast of England and the Ornithological world.

Audubon departed for the islands with his younger son John and a hired crew in early June of 1833. He chartered a private schooner called the Ripley for $350 a month plus provisions, and spent the summer months exploring, collecting, drawing, and painting in the near-constant daylight that such latitudes provide that time of year.

The first few days were spent in some apprehension as they struggled to pull the boat out from open water and into the numerous bays and inlets of the Labrador coast. The choppy waters and rocky shore were discomforting for the crew. On June 8th they successfully navigated the bay between the Seal Islands, known for their fur seal populations, and the Mud Islands, known for their mud pies. Audubon observed the nesting Storm Petrels and also collected specimens of Foolish Guillemot and Gannets, despite sea-sickness stealing everyone's appetite for the day.

Audubon recorded this about the Guillemots in Birds of America: "While on my way toward Labrador, they were constantly within sight, gambolling over the surface of the water, the males courting the females, and the latter receiving the caresses of their mates. These would at times rise erect in the sea, swell their throats, and emit a hoarse puffing guttural note, to which the females at once responded, with numerous noddings to their beaux. Then the pair would rise, take a round in the air, re-alight, and seal the conjugal compact; after which they flew or swam together for the season, and so closely, that among multitudes on the wing or on the waves, one might easily distinguish a mated pair."

The next day they struck out to the Canseau Island shore, where the men's stomachs could settle and Audubon collected Robin nests, as well as specimens of White-Throated Sparrow and "Savannah Finch". I must admit, I've never heard of a Savannah Finch, but sure enough here is Audubon's rendition:

 Despite the birding opportunities, Audubon's crew managed to pry him away and they spent June 10th catching lobsters. June 11th brought Audubon a Great Black-Backed gull, the largest gull in the world (a 30 inch bird). With his Gull and his lobster lunch, Audubon was a happy and gushing man:

"It is as the Eagle to the Vultures or Crows. So superior is it in strength and courage to the Fulmars, Lestris, or even Gannets, to say nothing of Gulls of all sorts, that at its approach they all give way, and until it has quite satisfied itself, none venture to approach the precious morsel on which it is feeding."

Next week Audubon lands in the gulf of St. Lawrence, and the action really begins. It's another short post this week, but the opportunities for pictures are at least on the up and up! As I've mentioned before, there is something inescapably beautiful, if also distracting, about these personalized depictions in the early bird books. All of the illustrations were hand-drawn and then copied through an etching process. The images lack the proper proportions and technical accuracy of today's field guides, but have been thoroughly personalized and provided with an exceeding attention to detail and love of the subject. I don't mean to downplay today's field guides, but you know that when you are looking at Audubon's models, you're looking at a specific and real bird which he shot, preserved, and spent many hours then trying to bring back to life for us, the reader, almost 200 years later. I appreciate that very much. 

Wednesdays with Audubon, Chapter 6

Hello Readers,

Unfortunately, I won't have the time this evening to do the full and proper weekly installment of Wednesdays with Audubon, but I'll here submit a quick preview of the coming section all the same.

When we left Audubon last week, he had finally found that wonderful combination of financial stability and vocational reward in his ornithological publishing. Needless to say, it came when he was able to involve all of the talents and dedication of his entire family, instead of trying to manage it all on his own.

It had been a long but fulfilling struggle for the Audubons, and with his new professional establishment, Audubon was able to buy property in New York and set up the permanent Audubon home, where many the grandchild would be born and raised.

Like many men of his age (meaning the 1840s, not his actual age as he was now nearing 70), Audubon became increasingly intrigued by the allure of the West, and his wanderlust drew him towards a great expedition in Missouri, knowing full-well it would be the last adventure he could manage.

Audubon, age 69, shortly before his departure

Leaving his sons to continue supervising the new editions of his books, Audubon set out in April of 1843 towards St. Louis. The voyage began in poor circumstance, with Audubon chartering passage on a rickety steamship down the Mississippi. The unsavory conditions grated on Audubon's nerves, but that was not the worst of it.

The steamship struck a sawyer (a fallen tree whose root end is facing the bottom of the river, causing it to sway against the current), and for a moment it seemed like all might be lost:
"The ladies screamed, the babies squalled, the dogs yelled, the steam roared, the captain swore--not like an angel, but like the very devil--and all was confusion and uproar. Luckily, we had had our supper, as the thing was called on board the Gallant, and every man appeared to feel resolute, if not resolved to die..."

Wednesdays with Audubon, Chapter 5

--Sorry to be getting this in late. I was without internet the last couple days, but hopefully things will get back on track. Last week Audubon had just returned from his work to reunite with Lucy Audubon after nearly a 5 year absence. While renown and respect for his work was beginning to grow, the money still wasn't coming in, but at least the Audubons were together.

While J.J. and Lucy were back together, his work was not yet done. He returned to England and then Scotland, this time with Lucy and his sons, John and Victor. While Audubon worked to promote his books, both those that were printed and the upcoming editions, his sons focussed on publishing and copying, while his wife dazzled their English friends with her wit and charm. It became apparent to both Audubon and those around him that he was still missing a real scientist in his undertaking. As he confidently notes: "I am now aware that no man living better knows the habits of our (North American) birds...I cannot however scribble tolerable english letters, and I cannot give scientific descriptions, so here I required assistance."

J.J. Audubon had more direct experience and field-time than any other ornithologist working in North America, but if his work was to be more successful and acceptable to those with strict scientific and terminological sensibilities, he would need a technical assistant. His first choice was Mr. William Swainson, but since Swainson was unavailable, Audubon went with the recommendation of Mr. James Wilson and set up a partnership with Mr. William MacGillivray. Again, it's impressive to see the names of Audubon's associates. There's not a man without at least one bird to his namesake. MacGillivray was very diligent, and with his technical focus Audubon's work gained strict scientific analysis to go along with Audubon's excellent, more personal accounts of each bird.

The Audubons returned to the U.S. in 1831, and J.J. immediately set out on a brief trip to Florida. On the way, he forged a friendship with Rev. John Bachman, a birding enthusiast and kindred spirit with Audubon. J.J. collected a few new species in Florida, and then promptly moved his family in the opposite direction, taking them up to Maine in 1832. At this point, his sons John and Victor returned to England to supervise his publishing, and Audubon hired on some help and set out on a treacherous journey to the Labrador Islands of Newfoundland, where he found and collected 73 new species. Unfortunately, many of Audubon's older notes, journals, and samples were destroyed in the New York fire of 1835, but his work had now gained enough support and momentum that it was moving along almost with a mind of its own.

His son John married Maria, Rev. Bachman's oldest daughter. The first Audubon grandchild, Lucy, was born in 1837, shortly before the latests and most extensive edition of Audubon's ornithologies was published in 1838. The Audubons now had enough money and established credit for J.J. to buy his beloved "Minniesland" (minnie being a scottish term for mother/wife) outside of New York City. The piece of land is today preserved and known as Audubon Park, and during the mid 19th century 11 of the 14 Audubon grandchildren were born there.

While Audubon does not directly comment on his change of fortune, I think it is very interesting that his success and comfort dramatically improved as he involved more and more of his family in his work. His early excursions were done in solitude, in part because his sons were still young and Lucy had to care for them. But during those early days, Audubon lost a lot of money and had a more difficult time establishing himself in the ornithological world. While reading Audubon's accounts, I often wondered at his frequent absences from his wife and children. Was it just an understood and necessary part of a young man's work in the early 19th century, or was he a little bit inconsiderate? At any rate, it certainly seems that when Audubon's family was able to help him more directly, his work became increasingly successful. In my limited experiences, I've always found birding to be much more enjoyable when I can share it with friends and family. While at times I recognize and sympathize with Audubon's yearning for the open country, for the secluded beauty of nature, it's always better with company.

Wednesdays with Audubon, Chapter 4

Poor Audubon. He had a talent and a love for ornithology, and he had a happy marriage. But from the end of the War of 1812 to the early 1820s he could not make a worthy investment to save his life, and indeed the deaths of his infant daughters weighed very heavily upon him.

Audubon took his family and moved to New Orleans in 1819, where he and Lucy found salaried positions as private teachers for some of the well established families there. While the Audubon family found some stability during this time, both financial and emotional, John felt his ornithological opportunities beginning to fade.

With Lucy still very popular and in high demand in New Orleans, Audubon decided to make a trip up to Kentucky and New York with his oldest (14) son Victor in the Summer of 1823. Lucy and the younger children were secure in Louisiana, and Audubon's sense of adventure, along with a growing desire to focus on his naturalist interest and be recognized for his work, drove the men up north. Audubon does not include details of this trip, although he and Victor were both way-layed with yellow fever in Louisville, and Mrs. Audubon had to come nurse them back to health despite their best attempt at self-sufficiency.

Audubon still had a fine reputation as an artist and a naturalist, but he had not done much to establish himself within the growing networks of professional and internationally recognized ornithologists. Leaving Victor to study painting and drawing in Shippingport, PA (Audubon assures us this was Victor's interest, and not at all prompted by his father), Audubon continued on to Philadelphia. With his connections in Philadelphia, Audubon was able to meet and hobb-nobb with the city's elite, and even find some venues for his artwork. It was during the spring and summer of 1824 that he acquainted himself with the likes of such bird-brained people as Charles Lucien Bonaparte (nephew to Napoleon), Sir Edward Harris, Dr. John Bachman, George Ord (who became Audubon's anonymous nemesis), Dr. Richard Harlan and many other distinguished and published people.

Looking at these last names, one can tell this was an auspicious gathering in American natural history. Almost all of them have at least 1 species of bird to their namesake, and some have many more. It was from this exposure that Audubon gained the necessary capital and encouragement to compile and publish  the first edition of Birds of America. At the time, the demand and funding for such things was to be found predominantly in England so Audubon had to remove himself to foggy Albion and delay his return to Lucy. Birds of America was published through 5 editions, with a total of 435 plates showing 1035 figures of birds in total. This was published much to the envy and  excoriating, anonymous criticisms of Mr. George Ord, who had spent his time as a professional ornithologist continuing post-humous work on Wilson's Ornithologies. As one might imagine, his work was made obsolete by Audubon's superior compilation.

It's amazing to think of these first birding books and field guides. All of the illustrations were hand-drawn and then copied through an etching process. They would have lacked the proper proportions and technical accuracy of today's field guides, but have been thoroughly personalized. Additionally, the author could blend colors and shapes in a more organic way, and create a product that was probably less accurate, but also more artistic than many of today's models.

Audubon's books sold very well in England (there was still relatively little time and interest for such things in America), and he was quickly encouraged to produce more editions on his return to America. With significant and respectable support from the naturalist community, and a paying constituency behind him, Audubon felt compelled to build on his success. He spent the late summer and early fall amidst the swamps of New Jersey, hiring on extra help to aid in his gathering of specimens. Over the course of 4 months he found and drew 95 new bird species and 66 eggs. With these add-ons now done, Audubon could finally head back to Louisiana. He set out on a ferocious pace towards New Orleans, and was reunited with Lucy, whom he had not seen for several years,  in November of 1829.

Wednesdays with Audubon, Chapter 3

We left off with Audubon the adventurer. While his love of the outdoors and his fondness for drawing birds and observing bird behavior continued to grow, so too did his love for one Lucy Bakewell. Audubon ended that section of his account with a rather telling anecdote: "In my drawing of birds only did I interest Mr. Da Costa. He always commended my efforts, nay he even went further. One morning, While I was drawing a figure of the Ardea herodias, he assured me the time might come when I should be a great American naturalist." 

This artistic skill and ornithological zeal was not quite enough for Mr. Bakewell, and he set Audubon up to study the mercantile trades that he might better provide for Lucy in their married life. Despite the pose he struck as a Renaissance Man, Audubon was no entrepreneur. He invested in indigo and ham trades  (curious combination) into the Caribbean without any prophet to show. Apparently this commitment alone was enough for Mr. Bakewell, and John James Audubon married Lucy Bakewell on April 8th, 1808. They moved down to Louisville and bought a small department store. Their first son Victor was born June 12, 1809.

Despite his earlier financial setbacks, Audubon worked as part of a trade exchange between Ohio, Pennsylvania, and Kentucky. This network was set up by Mr. Bakewell, who entered into a New Orleans trading venture with John Audubon's capital (and a fair bit more business sense). While the families did fairly well, it became steadily more clear to Audubon that his was not a mind for merchandise:

"Were I to tell you that once, when traveling and driving several horses before me laden with goods and dollars, I lost sight of the pack-saddles, and the cash they bore, to watch the motions of the warbler, I should only repeat occurrences that happened a hundred times and more in those days."

Over the next couple years the markets rose and fell; Audubon and Bakewell profited less and less with each ensuing season. This did not stop Audubon from taking increasingly longer treks out into the Kentucky wilderness and beyond, recording in great detail all the birds and quadrupeds that he encountered.

To revamp his funding and better establish his proximity to the wilderness, Audubon purchased  livestock in Louisville and drove it up to Henderson, KY, where he made a good return and bought several acres of property. He continued to improve his finances in the next year before being joined by Thomas Bakewell, who persuaded him to invest in a steam mill along with another Englishman named Thomas Pears.
"Up went the steam-mill at an enormous expense, in a country then as unfit for such a thing as it would be now for me to attempt to settle in the moon...Thomas Pears lost his money and we lost ours."

Audubon's fortunes went from bad to worse. After investing in some private banks, Audubon and Thomas Bakewell bought shares in a steamboat, and then resold to it a man who used counterfeit bills. The man, who Audubon only names as TB, attacked Audubon in the street for defaming his name. Though Audubon received several strong blows from TB's improvised cudgel, Audubon himself had taken to wearing a dagger, and severely wounded TB. While he was exonerated in court, Audubon's bills continued to pile up, and soon after the birth of his daughter Rosa he had lost the entirety of their fortune. Despite these continual setbacks, Audubon is not bitter in his recollections:
"She [Lucy Audubon] felt the pangs of our misfortunes perhaps more heavily than I, but never for an hour lost her courage; her brave and cheerful spirit accepted all, and no reproaches from her beloved lips ever wounded my heart. With her was I not always rich?"

Audubon sold his Pennsylvania estates to pay off his debts, lodging with nearby friends while he established himself as a draughtsman--finally, the technical and detailed skills he developed with his ornithological pursuits were paying for themselves.  Audubon's reputation as a sketch-artist quickly grew, and he was often employed to draw the recently deceased, but with a life-like countenance, that would serve as the centerpiece and funerals and remembrances. This professional practice in turn led Audubon to greatly improve his avian artistry, and soon he was drawing birds better than he had before his string of misfortunes.

It was not long before his avian sketches gained as much notoriety as his portraits, and in 1819 he was invited to Cincinnati College to work as a taxonomist and taxidermist for the university's museum. Although his family settled comfortably in Ohio, and Audubon even opened a drawing school, the family suffered its most grievous loss with the death of Rosa, their first-born daughter (Audubon does not dwell on this at all, and in fact later mentions that they had another daughter, named Lucy, who also died in infancy even before Rosa). To make matters worse, it turned out that folks in Cincinnati pledged and promised more than they could pay, and the Audubon funds continued to shrivel. Despite the generally ill-tidings of these years, Audubon's love of nature continued to grow.

"One of the most extraordinary things among all these adverse circumstances was that I never for a day gave up listening to the songs of our birds, or watching their peculiar habits, or delineating them in the best ways that I could; nay, during my deepest troubles I frequently would wrench myself from the persons around me, and retire to some secluded part of our noble forests; and many a time, at the sound of the wood-thrush's melodies have I fallen on my knees, and there prayed earnestly to our God. This never failed to bring me the most valuable of thoughts and always comfort, and, strange as it may seem to you, it was often necessary for me to exert my will, and compel myself to return to my fellow-beings."

Wednesday's with Audubon, Chapter 1

I received a wonderful present this autumn in the form of John J. Audubon's journals. Compiled into two books and edited by his granddaughter, Maria R. Audubon, this incredible compilation was published in 1897, and provides for a fascinating insight into the life of the great explorer and ornithologist.

The books themselves are pieces of history, and demand a certain reverence and delicacy that is, at times, hard to maintain while adventuring along the Missouri River with J.J. Audubon. The binding of these books is so old that you have to cut the pages apart with a sharp knife as you progress through the stories (every two pages are actually attached on the right margin, so page 13 skips right to page 16 unless you lacerate the right-side margin to reveal pages 14 and 15).

I didn't know they ever bound books this way, but I guess it makes sense. It reminds me of a newspaper, as if they'd print the entire book out on one long sheet of paper, or several long sheets, and then fold them back in on themselves intermittently for a strong, non-adhesive binding. Fascinating!
My aspiration is to read a section each week and reproduce its highlights here every Wednesday, to the best of my ability, such that I can share these incredibly cool stories with all who are interested.

John J. Audubon's life began rather inauspiciously, on an unknown day, in an unknown year, on the French island of Santo Domingo (modern Dominican Republic). Audubon's mother was killed in a slave insurrection soon after his birth, and his father resettled in Nantes, France, where he remarried. With little knowledge of his early childhood, and none about his birth, Audubon's journals actually begin with a description of his father's: "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 that want of wealth by the number of his children, twenty-one of whom he raised to man and womanhood...When my father had reached the age of twelve years, his father presented him with a coarse shirt, a stick, his blessing, and urged him to go and seek means for his future support...Some kind whaler or cod-fisherman took him on board as a "Boy"."

Audubon's father slowly grew in strength and skill. He achieved his own command of a fishing vessel at twenty-one, and owned several small crafts by twenty-eight, with which he sailed to the Caribbean, where he plied his trade until he could buy a small estate.  Within ten years, John Woodhouse Audubon was called to serve in the French navy, and he worked for both Rochambeau and Lafayette during the American Revolution,  "The war between England and her child of the West."

By his own account, Audubon took after his father, both in appearance and disposition: "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 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, then calm almost instantly returned."

Despite the rather ruff-looking portrait that Audubon provides of his farther, he grew up in exceptional comfort. In fact his first vivid memory from France was of their pet monkey deliberately killing their pet parrot as it squawked for its morning meal: "I was tranquilized, the monkey was forever afterward chained, and Mignonne buried with all the pomp of a cherished lost one."

While Aududon's father insisted that he learn the value of hard work and perseverance from a young age, it was perhaps Audubon's stepmother who won out in the early years: "My stepmother, who was devotedly attached to me (she had no children of her own), far too much for my own good, was desirous that I should be brought up to live and die like a gentleman. 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."

It was assumed that Audubon would follow in his fathers footsteps and serve either as an officer in the French military or as an engineer. In addition to his normal schooling, he was afforded private tutors in mathematics, geometry, drawing, geography, and fencing. "My father being mostly absent on duty, my mother suffered me to do as I pleased; it was therefore not to be wondered at that, instead of applying closely to me studies, I preferred associating with boys of my age and disposition, who were more fond of going in search of birds' nests, fishing, or shooting...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 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 pebbles gathered along the shore of some rivulet."

Thus we can see that curiosity and love for nature beginning to grow in young Audubon, perhaps at the expense of other subjects. "The first time my father returned from sea, 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. When he inquired what else I had done, and I, like a culprit, hung my head, he left me without saying another word."

That's all for this week. Tune in next  Wednesday for the beginning of John J. Audubon's adventures.
In the mean time, super bonus points to whoever can identify this bird engraved on the cover: