Loe raamatut: «Audubon and his Journals, Volume 1 (of 2)», lehekülg 20

October 21. Redouté told me the young Duchesse d'Orléans had subscribed, and I would receive a letter to that effect. Cuvier sent me one hundred printed copies of his Procès verbal.

October 22. The second day of promise is over, and not a word from either of the ministers. Now, do those good gentlemen expect me to remain in Paris all my life? They are mistaken. Saturday I pack; on Tuesday morning farewell to Paris. Redouté sent me three volumes of his beautiful roses, which thou wilt so enjoy, and a compliment which is beyond all truth, so I will not repeat it.

October 26. I received a letter from Baron de la Brouillerie announcing that the King had subscribed to my work for his private library. I was visited by the secretary of the Duc d'Orléans, who sat with me some time, a clever and entertaining man with whom I felt quite at ease. He told me that I might now expect the subscriptions of most of the royal family, because none of them liked to be outdone or surpassed by any of the others.¹⁷¹ Good God! what a spirit is this; what a world we live in! I also received a M. Pitois, who came to look at my book, with a view to becoming my agent here; Baron Cuvier recommended him strongly, and I have concluded a bargain with him. He thinks he can procure a good number of names. His manners are plain, and I hope he will prove an honest man. He had hardly gone, when I received a letter from M. Siméon, telling me the Minister of the Interior would take six copies for various French towns and universities, and he regretted it was not twelve. So did I, but I am well contented. I have now thirteen subscribers in Paris; I have been here two months, and have expended forty pounds. My adieux will now be made, and I shall be en route for London before long.

London, November 4. I travelled from Paris to Boulogne with two nuns, that might as well be struck off the calendar of animated beings. They stirred not, they spoke not, they saw not; they replied neither by word nor gesture to the few remarks I made. In the woods of America I have never been in such silence; for in the most retired places I have had the gentle murmuring streamlet, or the sound of the Woodpecker tapping, or the sweet melodious strains of that lovely recluse, my greatest favorite, the Wood Thrush. The great poverty of the country struck me everywhere; the peasantry are beggarly and ignorant, few know the name of the Département in which they live; their hovels are dirty and uncomfortable, and appear wretched indeed after Paris. In Paris alone can the refinements of society, education, and the fine arts be found. To Paris, or to the large cities, the country gentleman must go, or have nothing; how unlike the beautiful country homes of the English. I doubt not the "New Monthly" would cry out: "Here is Audubon again, in all his extravagance." This may be true, but I write as I think I see, and that is enough to render me contented with my words. The passage from Calais was short, and I was free from my usual seasickness, and London was soon reached, where I have been busy with many letters, many friends, and my work. I have presented a copy of my birds to the Linnæan Society, and sold a little picture for ten guineas. And now I must to work on the pictures that have been ordered in France.

November 7. To-day is of some account, as Mr. Havell has taken the drawings that are to form the eleventh number of my work. It will be the first number for the year 1829. I have as yet had no answer from the Linnæan Society, but thou knowest how impatient my poor nature always is.

November 10. I have been painting as much as the short days will allow, but it is very hard for me to do so, as my Southern constitution suffers so keenly from the cold that I am freezing on the side farthest from the fire at this very instant. I have finished the two pictures for the Duc d'Orléans; that of the Grouse I regret much to part with, without a copy; however, I may at some future time group another still more naturally.

November 15. We have had such dismal fog in this London that I could scarcely see to write at twelve o'clock; however, I did write nearly all day. It has been extremely cold besides, and in the streets in the middle of the day I saw men carrying torches, so dark it was.

November 17. I anticipated this day sending all my copies for Paris, but am sadly disappointed. One of the colorers employed brought a number so shamefully done that I would not think of forwarding it. It has gone to be washed, hot pressed, and done over again. Depend upon it, my work will not fail for the want of my own very particular attention.

December 23. After so long neglecting thee, my dear book, it would be difficult to enter a connected account of my time, but I will trace the prominent parts of the lapse. Painting every day, and I may well add constantly, has been the main occupation. I have (what I call) finished my two large pictures of the Eagle and the Lamb, and the Dog and the Pheasants, and now, as usual, can scarce bear to look at either. My friends the Swainsons have often been to see me, and good Bentley came and lived with me for a month as a brother would. I parted from him yesterday with pain and regret. Several artists have called upon me, and have given me false praises, as I have heard afterwards, and I hope they will keep aloof. It is charity to speak the truth to a man who knows the poverty of his talents and wishes to improve; it is villanous to mislead him, by praising him to his face, and laughing at his work as they go down the stairs of his house. I have, however, applied to one whom I know to be candid, and who has promised to see them, and to give his opinion with truth and simplicity; this is no other, my Lucy, than the president of the Royal Academy, Sir Thomas Lawrence. The steady work and want of exercise has reduced me almost to a skeleton; I have not allowed myself the time even to go to the Zoölogical Gardens.

December 26. I dined yesterday (another Christmas day away from my dear country) at a Mr. Goddard's; our company was formed of Americans, principally sea-captains. During my absence Sir Thomas Lawrence came to see my paintings, which were shown to him by Mr. Havell, who reported as follows. On seeing the Eagle and Lamb he said, "That is a fine picture." He examined it closely, and was shown that of the Pheasants, which I call "Sauve qui peut." He approached it, looked at it sideways, up and down, and put his face close to the canvas, had it moved from one situation to two others in different lights, but gave no opinion. The Otter came next, and he said that the "animal" was very fine, and told Havell he would come again to see them in a few days. I paid him my respects the next morning, and thought him kinder than usual. He said he would certainly come to make a choice for me of one to be exhibited at Somerset House, and would speak to the Council about it.

The remaining three months before Audubon sailed for America, April 1, 1829, were passed in preparations for his absence from his book, and many pages of his fine, close writing are filled with memoranda for Mr. Havell, Mr. J. G. Children, and Mr. Pitois. Audubon writes: "I have made up my mind to go to America, and with much labor and some trouble have made ready. My business is as well arranged for as possible; I have given the agency of my work to my excellent friend Children, of the British Museum, who kindly offered to see to it during my absence. I have collected some money, paid all my debts, and taken my passage in the packet-ship 'Columbia,' Captain Delano. I chose the ship on account of her name, and paid thirty pounds for my passage. I am about to leave this smoky city for Portsmouth, and shall sail on April 1." The voyage was uneventful, and America was reached on May 1. Almost immediately began the search for new birds, and those not delineated already, for the continuation and completion of the "Birds of America."

THE LABRADOR JOURNAL

1833

INTRODUCTION

THE Labrador trip, long contemplated, was made with the usual object, that of procuring birds and making the drawings of them for the continuation of the "Birds of America," the publication of which was being carried on by the Havells, under the supervision of Victor, the elder son, who was in London at this time. To him Audubon writes from Eastport, Maine, under date of May 31, 1833: —

"We are on the eve of our departure for the coast of Labrador. Our party consists of young Dr. George Shattuck of Boston, Thomas Lincoln of Dennysville, William Ingalls, son of Dr. Ingalls of Boston, Joseph Coolidge, John, and myself. I have chartered a schooner called the 'Ripley,' commanded by Captain Emery, who was at school with my friend Lincoln; he is reputed to be a gentleman, as well as a good sailor. Coolidge, too, has been bred to the sea, and is a fine, active youth of twenty-one. The schooner is a new vessel, only a year old, of 106 tons, for which we pay three hundred and fifty dollars per month for the entire use of the vessel with the men, but we supply ourselves with provisions.¹⁷² The hold of the vessel has been floored, and our great table solidly fixed in a tolerably good light under the main hatch; it is my intention to draw whenever possible, and that will be many hours, for the daylight is with us nearly all the time in those latitudes, and the fishermen say you can do with little sleep, the air is so pure. I have been working hard at the birds from the Grand Menan, as well as John, who is overcoming his habit of sleeping late, as I call him every morning at four, and we have famous long days. We are well provided as to clothes, and strange figures indeed do we cut in our dresses, I promise you: fishermen's boots, the soles of which are all nailed to enable us to keep our footing on the sea-weeds, trousers of fearnought so coarse that our legs look like bears' legs, oiled jackets and over-trousers for rainy weather, and round, white, wool hats with a piece of oil cloth dangling on our shoulders to prevent the rain from running down our necks. A coarse bag is strapped on the back to carry provisions on inland journeys, with our guns and hunting-knives; you can form an idea of us from this. Edward Harris is not to be with us; this I regret more than I can say. This day seven vessels sailed for the fishing-grounds, some of them not more than thirty tons' burden, for these hardy fishermen care not in what they go; but I do, and, indeed, such a boat would be too small for us."

The 1st of June was the day appointed for the start, but various delays occurred which retarded this until the 6th, when the journal which follows tells its own tale.

Of all the members of the party Mr. Joseph Coolidge, now (1897) living in San Francisco, is the sole survivor.

M. R. A.

THE LABRADOR JOURNAL

1833

Eastport, Maine, June 4. Our vessel is being prepared for our reception and departure, and we have concluded to hire two extra sailors and a lad; the latter to be a kind of major-domo, to clean our guns, etc., search for nests, and assist in skinning birds. Whilst rambling in the woods this morning, I found a Crow's nest, with five young, yet small. As I ascended the tree, the parents came to their offspring crying loudly, and with such perseverance that in less than fifteen minutes upwards of fifty pairs of these birds had joined in their vociferations; yet when first the parents began to cry I would have supposed them the only pair in the neighborhood.

Wednesday, June 5. This afternoon, when I had concluded that everything relating to the charter of the "Ripley" was arranged, some difficulty arose between myself and Mr. Buck, which nearly put a stop to our having his vessel. Pressed, however, as I was, by the lateness of the season, I gave way and suffered myself to be imposed upon as usual, with a full knowledge that I was so. The charter was signed, and we hoped to have sailed, but to-morrow is now the day appointed. Our promised Hampton boat is not come.

Thursday, June 6. We left the wharf of Eastport about one o'clock p. m. Every one of the male population came to see the show, just as if no schooner the size of the "Ripley" had ever gone from this mighty port to Labrador. Our numerous friends came with the throng, and we all shook hands as if never to meet again. The batteries of the garrison, and the cannon of the revenue cutter, saluted us, each firing four loud, oft-echoing reports. Captain Coolidge accompanied us, and indeed was our pilot, until we had passed Lubec. The wind was light and ahead, and yet with the assistance of the tide we drifted twenty-five miles, down to Little River, during the night, and on rising on the morning of June 7 we were at anchor near some ugly rocks, the sight of which was not pleasing to our good captain.

June 7. The whole morning was spent trying to enter Little River, but in vain; the men were unable to tow us in. We landed for a few minutes, and shot a Hermit Thrush, but the appearance of a breeze brought us back, and we attempted to put to sea. Our position now became rather dangerous, as we were drawn by the current nearly upon the rocks; but the wind rose at last, and we cleared for sea. At three o'clock it became suddenly so foggy that we could not see the bowsprit. The night was spent in direful apprehensions of ill luck; at midnight a smart squall decided in our favor, and when day broke on the morning of June 8 the wind was from the northeast, blowing fresh, and we were dancing on the waters, all shockingly sea-sick, crossing that worst of all dreadful bays, the Bay of Fundy. We passed between the Seal Islands and the Mud Islands; in the latter Procellaria wilsonii, the Stormy Petrel, breeds abundantly; their nests are dug out of the sand in an oblique direction to the depth of two, or two and a half feet. At the bottom of these holes, and on the sand, the birds deposit their pure white eggs. The holes are perforated, not in the banks like the Bank Swallow, but are like rat holes over the whole of the islands. On Seal Islands Larus argentatus, the Herring Gull, breeds as abundantly as on Grand Menan, but altogether on trees. As we passed Cape Sable, so called on account of its being truly a sand-point of some caved-in elevation, we saw a wrecked ship with many small crafts about it. I saw there Uria troile, the Foolish Guillemot, and some Gannets. The sea was dreadful, and scarcely one of us was able to eat or drink this day. We came up with the schooner "Caledonia," from Boston for Labrador; her captain wished to keep in our company, and we were pretty much together all night and also on Sunday.

June 9. We now had a splendid breeze, but a horrid sea, and were scarce able to keep our feet, or sleep. The "Caledonia" was very near to us for some time, but when the breeze increased to a gale, and both vessels had to reef, we showed ourselves superior in point of sailing. So good was our run that on the next morning, June 10, we found ourselves not more than thirty miles from Cape Canseau, ordinarily called Cape Cancer. The wind was so fair for proceeding directly to Labrador that our captain spoke of doing so, provided it suited my views; but, anxious as I am not to suffer any opportunity to escape of doing all I can to fulfil my engagements, I desired that we should pass through what is called "The Gut of Canseau," and we came into the harbor of that name¹⁷³ at three of the afternoon. Here we found twenty vessels, all bound to Labrador, and, of course, all fishermen. We had been in view of the southeastern coast of Nova Scotia all day, a dreary, poor, and inhospitable-looking country. As we dropped our anchor we had a snowfall, and the sky had an appearance such as I never before recollect having seen. Going on shore we found not a tree in blossom, though the low plants near the ground were all in bloom; I saw azaleas, white and blue violets, etc., and in some situations the grass really looked well. The Robins were in full song; one nest of that bird was found; the White-throated Sparrow and Savannah Finch were also in full song. The Fringilla nivalis¹⁷⁴ was seen, and we were told that Tetrao canadensis¹⁷⁵ was very abundant, but saw none. About a dozen houses form this settlement; there was no Custom House officer, and not an individual who could give an answer of any value to our many questions. We returned on board and supped on a fine codfish. The remainder of our day was spent in catching lobsters, of which we procured forty. They were secured simply by striking them in shallow water with a gaff-hook. It snowed and rained at intervals, and to my surprise we did not observe a single seabird.

June 11. Larus marinus (the Great Black-backed Gull) is so superior both in strength and courage to 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 satiated itself, none venture to approach the precious morsel on which it is feeding. In this respect, it is as the Eagle to the Vultures or Carrion Crows. I omitted saying that last night, before we retired to rest, after much cold, snow, rain, and hail, the frogs were piping in all the pools on the shore, and we all could hear them clearly, from the deck of the "Ripley." The weather to-day is beautiful, the wind fair, and when I reached the deck at four a. m. we were under way in the wake of the whole of the fleet which last evening graced the Harbor of Canseau, but which now gave life to the grand bay across which all were gliding under easy pressure of sail. The land locked us in, the water was smooth, the sky pure, and the thermometer was only 46°, quite cold; indeed, it was more grateful to see the sunshine whilst on deck this morning, and to feel its warmth, than I can recollect before at this season. After sailing for twenty-one miles, and passing one after another every vessel of the fleet, we entered the Gut of Canseau, so named by the Spanish on account of the innumerable Wild Geese which, in years long past and forgotten, resorted to this famed passage. The land rises on each side in the form of an amphitheatre, and on the Nova Scotia side, to a considerable height. Many appearances of dwellings exist, but the country is too poor for comfort; the timber is small, and the land, very stony. Here and there a small patch of ploughed land, planted, or to be planted, with potatoes, was all we could see evincing cultivation. Near one house we saw a few apple-trees, yet without leaves. The general appearance of this passage reminded me of some parts of the Hudson River, and accompanied as we were by thirty smaller vessels, the time passed agreeably. Vegetation about as forward as at Eastport; saw a Chimney Swallow, heard some Blue Jays, saw some Indians in a bark canoe, passed Cape Porcupine, a high, rounding hill, and Cape George, after which we entered the Gulf of St. Lawrence. From this place, on the 20th of May last year, the sea was a complete sheet of ice as far as a spy-glass could inform. As we advanced, running parallel with the western coast of Cape Breton Island, the country looked well, at the distance we were from it; the large, undulating hills were scattered with many hamlets, and here and there a bit of cultivated land was seen. It being calm when we reached Jestico Island, distant from Cape Breton about three miles, we left the vessel and made for it. On landing we found it covered with well grown grass sprinkled everywhere with the blossoms of the wild strawberry; the sun shone bright, and the weather was quite pleasant. Robins, Savannah Finches, Song Sparrows, Tawny Thrushes, and the American Redstart were found. The Spotted Sand-piper, Totanus macularius, was breeding in the grass, and flew slowly with the common tremor of their wings, uttering their "wheet-wheet-wheet" note, to invite me to follow them. A Raven had a nest and three young in it, one standing near it, the old birds not seen. Uria troile¹⁷⁶ and U. grylle¹⁷⁷ were breeding in the rocks, and John saw several Ardea herodias¹⁷⁸ flying in pairs, also a pair of Red-breasted Mergansers that had glutted themselves with fish so that they were obliged to disgorge before they could fly off. Amongst the plants the wild gooseberry, nearly the size of a green pea, was plentiful, and the black currant, I think of a different species from the one found in Maine. The wind rose and we returned on board. John and the sailors almost killed a Seal with their oars.

June 12. At four this morning we were in sight of the Magdalene Islands, or, as they are called on the chart, Amherst Islands; they appeared to be distant about twenty miles. The weather was dull and quite calm, and I thought the prospect of reaching these isles this day very doubtful, and returned to my berth sadly disappointed. After breakfast a thick fog covered the horizon on our bow, the islands disappeared from sight, and the wind rose sluggishly, and dead ahead. Several brigs and ships loaded with lumber out from Miramichi came near us, beating their way towards the Atlantic. We are still in a great degree land-locked by Cape Breton Island, the highlands of which look dreary and forbidding; it is now nine a. m., and we are at anchor in four fathoms of water, and within a quarter of a mile of an island, one of the general group; for our pilot, who has been here for ten successive years, informs us that all these islands are connected by dry sand-bars, without any other ship channel between them than the one which we have taken, and which is called Entrée Bay, formed by Entrée Island and a long, sandy, projecting reef connected with the main island. This latter measures forty-eight miles in length, by an average of about three in breadth; Entrée Island contains about fifteen hundred acres of land, such as it is, of a red, rough, sandy formation, the northwest side constantly falling into the sea, and exhibiting a very interesting sight. Guillemots were seen seated upright along the projecting shelvings in regular order, resembling so many sentinels on the look-out. Many Gannets also were seen about the extreme point of this island. On Amherst Island we saw many houses, a small church, and on the highest land a large cross, indicating the Catholic tendency of the inhabitants. Several small schooners lay in the little harbor called Pleasant Bay, and we intend to pay them an early visit to-morrow. The wind is so cold that it feels to us all like the middle of December at Boston.

Magdalene Islands, June 13. This day week we were at Eastport, and I am sure not one of our party thought of being here this day. At four this morning we were seated at breakfast around our great drawing-table; the thermometer was at 44°; we blew our fingers and drank our coffee, feeling as if in the very heart of winter, and when we landed I felt so chilled that it would have been quite out of the question to use my hands for any delicate work. We landed between two great bluffs, that looked down upon us with apparent anger, the resort of many a Black Guillemot and noble Raven, and following a tortuous path, suddenly came plump upon one of God's best finished jewels, a woman. She saw us first, for women are always keenest in sight and sympathy, in perseverance and patience, in fortitude, and love, and sorrow, and faith, and, for aught I know, much more. At the instant that my eyes espied her, she was in full run towards her cottage, holding to her bosom a fine babe, simply covered with a very short shirt, the very appearance of which set me shivering. The woman was dressed in coarse French homespun, a close white cotton cap which entirely surrounded her face tied under her chin, and I thought her the wildest-looking woman, both in form and face, I had seen for many a day. At a venture, I addressed her in French, and it answered well, for she responded in a wonderful jargon, about one third of which I understood, and abandoned the rest to a better linguist, should one ever come to the island. She was a plain, good woman, I doubt not, and the wife of an industrious fisherman. We walked through the woods, and followed the road to the church. Who would have thought that on these wild islands, among these impoverished people, we should have found a church; that we should have been suddenly confronted with a handsome, youthful, vigorous, black-haired, black-bearded fellow, in a soutane as black as the Raven's wedding-dress, and with a heart as light as a bird on the wing? Yet we met with both church and priest, and our ears were saluted by the sound of a bell which measures one foot by nine and a half inches in diameter, and weighs thirty pounds; and this bell may be heard a full quarter of a mile. It is a festival day, La Petite Fête de Dieu. The chapel was illuminated at six o'clock, and the inhabitants, even from a distance, passed in; among them were many old women, who, staff in hand, had trudged along the country road. Their backs were bent by age and toil, their eyes dimmed by time; they crossed their hands upon their breasts, and knelt before the sacred images in the church with so much simplicity and apparent truth of heart that I could not help exclaiming, "This is indeed religion!" The priest, Père Brunet, is originally from Quebec. These islands belong, or are attached, to Lower Canada; he, however, is under the orders of the Bishop of Halifax. He is a shrewd-looking fellow, and, if I mistake not, has a dash of the devil in him. He told me there were no reptiles on the island, but this was an error; for, while rambling about, Tom Lincoln, Ingalls, and John saw a snake, and I heard Frogs a-piping. He also told me that Black and Red Foxes, and the changeable Hare, with Rats lately imported, were the only quadrupeds to be found, except cows, horses, and mules, of which some had been brought over many years ago, and which had multiplied, but to no great extent. The land, he assured us, was poor in every respect, – soil, woods, game; that the Seal fisheries had been less productive these last years than formerly. On these islands, about a dozen in number, live one hundred and sixty families, all of whom make their livelihood by the Cod, Herring, and Mackerel fisheries. One or two vessels from Quebec come yearly to collect this produce of the ocean. Not a bird to be found larger than a Robin, but certainly thousands of those. Père Brunet said he lived the life of a recluse, and invited us to accompany him to the house where he boarded, and take a glass of good French wine. During our ramble on the island we found the temperature quite agreeable; indeed, in some situations the sun was pleasant and warm. Strawberry blossoms were under our feet at every step, and here and there the grass looked well. I was surprised to find the woods (by woods I mean land covered with any sort of trees, from the noblest magnolia down to dwarf cedars) rich in Warblers, Thrushes, Finches, Buntings, etc. The Fox-tailed Sparrow breeds here, the Siskin also. The Hermit and Tawny Thrushes crossed our path every few yards, the Black-capped Warbler flashed over the pools, the Winter Wren abounded everywhere. Among the water-birds we found the Great Tern (Sterna hirundo) very abundant, and shot four of them on the sand-ridges. The Piping Plover breeds here – shot two males and one female; so plaintive is the note of this interesting species that I feel great aversion to killing them. These birds certainly are the swiftest of foot of any water-birds which I know, of their size. We found many land-snails, and collected some fine specimens of gypsum. This afternoon, being informed that across the bay where we are anchored we might, perhaps, purchase some Black Fox skins, we went there, and found Messieurs Muncey keen fellows; they asked £5 for Black Fox and $1.50 for Red. No purchase on our part. Being told that Geese, Brents, Mergansers, etc., breed eighteen miles from here, at the eastern extremity of these islands, we go off there to-morrow in boats. Saw Bank Swallows and House Swallows. The woods altogether small evergreens, extremely scrubby, almost impenetrable, and swampy beneath. At seven this evening the thermometer is at 52°. This morning it was 44°. After our return to the "Ripley," our captain, John, Tom Lincoln, and Coolidge went off to the cliffs opposite our anchorage, in search of Black Guillemots' eggs. This was found to be quite an undertaking; these birds, instead of having to jump or hop from one place to another on the rocks, to find a spot suitable to deposit their spotted egg, as has been stated, are on the contrary excellent walkers, at least upon the rocks, and they can fly from the water to the very entrance of the holes in the fissures, where the egg is laid. Sometimes this egg is deposited not more than eight or ten feet above high-water mark, at other times the fissure in the rock which has been chosen stands at an elevation of a hundred feet or more. The egg is laid on the bare rock without any preparation, but when the formation is sandy, a certain scoop is indicated on the surface. In one instance, I found two feathers with the egg; this egg is about the size of a hen's, and looks extravagantly large, splashed with black or deep umber, apparently at random, the markings larger and more frequent towards the great end. At the barking of a dog from any place where these birds breed, they immediately fly towards the animal, and will pass within a few feet of the observer, as if in defiance. At other times they leave the nest and fall in the water, diving to an extraordinary distance before they rise again. John shot a Gannet on the wing; the flesh was black and unpleasant. The Piping Plover, when missed by the shot, rises almost perpendicularly, and passes sometimes out of sight; this is, I am convinced by the many opportunities I have had to witness the occurrence, a habit of the species. These islands are well watered by large springs, and rivulets intersect the country in many directions. We saw large flocks of Velvet Ducks feeding close to the shores; these did not appear to be in pairs. The Gannet dives quite under the water after its prey, and when empty of food rises easily off the water.