The Audubon Reader (45 page)

I have nearly delivered all my letters [of introduction] here and so far I am tolerably pleased with the place. Probably tomorrow I will open my small exhibition in the Society of Arts rooms,
gratis! … I will remain here a good fortnight, for I am determined to beat the bushes to the purpose. I have brought with me a copy of my 17th Number, 120 drawings and plenty of good spirits …

Liverpool, England

27 June 1830

Your last, my dear husband, of Wednesday & Thursday I received on Friday night, but as I wished the good news of Sister Ann’s amendment to be a little certain I did not write sooner. Ann begs me thank you kindly for your concern for her and for my stay; she says I must tell you that she is certainly better, but that my good [offices] would be very desirable to complete a cure, that [she] has had so many relapses she cannot but feel they may return, or the want of a friend at her elbow to advise and assist may bring back those spasms so painful. Now, my LaForest, you cannot perhaps tell how desirous I am of being with you, because Ann’s forlorn state made me forget myself, but she is able to sit up an hour or two, and I told her I wished to join you.

She, of course, is very sad about it, but I will, at her request, just say that if you cannot make it more convenient to go your rounds without me, that if there is no change I hope to be able to leave when your Birmingham business is done, and I had rather you should come for me if you possibly can, whenever you can, and by letting me know a day before, I could be ready for you as to having my clothes from the wash. I need say no more on the subject; my wish is to be with you, but the same sisterly feeling as you express has kept me here when necessary. Now you can either travel further without me or not, as you may deem the most prudent or agreeable. I am willing to do anything for a while longer. I am sorry you have had [bad] news from France: perhaps you would like to go there immediately; if so, I am ready.

You could not expect in less than a few weeks that such a place as Birmingham should know of you. I hope you are now better pleased … We have had two or three fine days but it is raining now. I do not know of anything new to tell you, for you know I am here as a nurse. Little Willy often talks about you. Ann and Mr. Gordon speak often of you … We have just had a report that
the King is dead. I can assure you if I had been going out much I should have felt the want of my gown, for my black is nearly gone indeed. I will not close my letter till evening that I may see to the latest if there is any change in Ann, but conclude begging you to keep up your spirits, think before you act and be assured you have a sincere and affectionate friend and wife, Lucy Audubon.

Dear husband,

6 o’clock. Mr. Gordon is just come to dinner and confirmed the reports about the King’s death. Ann says if your business is stopped by it, come here and then we can plan together, but I really must soon have a black gown—and my stays are dreadful, waiting for my going to London. Adieu …

Birmingham, England

28 June 1830

I was fidgety indeed until I received thy last and that was after the shutting my doors yesterday evening. I am particularly glad to hear such good tidings of our Sister Ann, and I will write to thee on Thursday evening when we are to meet. My time here has been of the dullest cast, I have only one
subscriber in Birmingham, the good people will hardly give themselves the trouble of coming to see the “Birds of America” much less to subscribe to the publication. However, I never give up the ship, and if Birmingham does not meet my expectations I must go elsewhere.

The death of George the 4th may or may not alter my plans for a few weeks (for even the demise of a King will not attract attention more than a fortnight). I have written to Havell this day for information and I will have his answer on Thursday next. I must say that I will find it rather inconvenient to go to Liverpool for thee, but if I cannot get thee without, I must do so …

This singular animal is found more or less abundant in most parts of the Southern, Western, and Middle States of the Union. It is the
Didelphis virginiana
of Pennant, Harlan and other authors who have given some account of its habits; but as none of them so far as I know have illustrated its propensity to dissimulate, and as I have had opportunities of observing its manners, I trust that a few particulars of its biography will prove amusing.

The opossum is fond of secluding itself during the day, although it by no means confines its predatory rangings to the night. Like many other quadrupeds which feed principally on flesh it is also both frugivorous and herbivorous, and when very hard pressed by hunger it seizes various kinds of insects and reptiles. Its
gait while traveling and at a time when it supposes itself unobserved is altogether ambling: in other words it, like a young foal, moves the two legs of one side forward at once. The
Newfoundland dog manifests a similar propensity. Having a constitution as hardy as that of the most northern animals, it stands the coldest weather and does not hibernate, although its covering of fur and hair may be said to be comparatively scanty even during winter. The defect, however, seems to be compensated by a skin of considerable thickness and a general subcutaneous layer of fat. Its movements are usually rather slow, and as it walks or ambles along its curious prehensile tail is carried just above the ground, its rounded ears are directed forward and at almost every step its pointed nose is applied to the objects beneath it in order to discover what sort of creatures may have crossed its path.

Methinks I see one at this moment slowly and cautiously
trudging over the melting snows by the side of an unfrequented pond, nosing as it goes for the fare its ravenous appetite prefers. Now it has come upon the fresh track of a grouse or hare and it raises its snout and snuffs the keen air. At length it has decided on its course and it speeds onward at the rate of a man’s ordinary walk. It stops and seems at a loss in what direction to go, for the object of its pursuit has either taken a considerable leap or has cut backwards before the opossum entered its track. It raises itself up, stands for a while on its hind feet, looks around, snuffs the air again and then proceeds; but now at the foot of a noble tree it comes to a full stand. It walks round the base of the huge trunk, over the snow-covered roots, and among them finds an aperture which it at once enters. Several minutes elapse, when it reappears dragging along a squirrel already deprived of life, with which in its mouth it begins to ascend the tree. Slowly it climbs. The first fork does not seem to suit it, for perhaps it thinks it might there be too openly exposed to the view of some wily foe, and so it proceeds until it gains a cluster of branches intertwined with grapevines, and there composing itself, it twists its tail round one of the twigs and with its sharp teeth demolishes the unlucky squirrel, which it holds all the while with its fore paws.

The pleasant days of spring have arrived and the trees vigorously shoot forth their buds; but the opossum is almost bare and seems nearly exhausted by hunger. It visits the margins of creeks and is pleased to see the young frogs, which afford it a tolerable repast. Gradually the pokeberry and the nettle shoot up and on their tender and juicy stems it gladly feeds. The matin calls of the Wild Turkey Cock delight the ear of the cunning creature, for it well knows that it will soon hear the female and trace her to her nest, when it will suck the eggs with delight. Traveling through the woods, perhaps on the ground, perhaps aloft from tree to tree, it hears a cock crow and its heart swells as it remembers the savory
food on which it regaled itself last summer in the neighboring farmyard. With great care, however, it advances and at last conceals itself in the very henhouse.

Honest farmer! why did you kill so many crows last winter? aye, and ravens too? Well, you have had your own way of it; but now hie to the village and procure a store of ammunition, clean your
rusty gun, set your traps and teach your lazy curs to watch the opossum. There it comes! The sun is scarcely down, but the appetite of the prowler is keen; hear the screams of one of your best chickens that has been seized by him! The cunning beast is off with it and nothing now can be done unless you stand there to watch the fox or the owl, now exulting in the thought that you have killed their enemy and your own friend, the poor crow. That precious hen under which you last week placed a dozen eggs or so is now deprived of them. The opossum, notwithstanding her angry outcries and rufflings of feathers, has removed them one by one; and now look at the poor bird as she moves across your yard; if not mad she is at least stupid, for she scratches here and there, calling to her chickens all the while. All this comes from your shooting crows. Had you been more merciful or more prudent the opossum might have been kept within the woods, where it would have been satisfied with a squirrel, a
young hare, the eggs of a Turkey or the grapes that so profusely adorn the boughs of our forest trees. But I talk to you in vain.

There cannot be a better exemplification of maternal tenderness than the female opossum. Just peep into that curious sack in which the young are concealed, each attached to a teat. The kind mother not only nourishes them with care but preserves them from their enemies; she moves with them as the shark does with its progeny and now, aloft on the tulip tree, she hides among the thick foliage. By the end of two months they begin to shift for themselves; each has been taught its particular lesson and must now practice it.

But suppose the farmer has surprised an opossum in the act of killing one of his best fowls. His angry feelings urge him to kick the poor beast which, conscious of its inability to resist, rolls off like a ball. The more the farmer rages, the more reluctant is the animal to manifest resentment; at last there it lies, not dead but exhausted, its jaws open, its tongue extended, its eye dimmed; and there it would lie until the bottle fly should come to deposit its eggs, did not its tormentor at length walk off. “Surely,” says he to himself, “the beast must be dead.” But no, reader, it is only “possuming,” and no sooner has its enemy withdrawn than it gradually gets on its legs and once more makes for the woods.

Once while descending the Mississippi in a sluggish flat-bottomed boat expressly for the purpose of studying those objects of nature more nearly connected with my favorite pursuits, I chanced to meet with two well-grown opossums and brought them alive to the “ark.” The poor things were placed on the roof or deck and were immediately assailed by the crew when, following their natural instinct, they lay as if quite dead. An experiment was suggested and both were thrown overboard. On striking the water and for a few moments after, neither evinced the least disposition to move; but finding their situation desperate they began to swim towards our uncouth rudder, which was formed of a long, slender tree extending from the middle of the boat thirty feet beyond its stern. They both got upon it, were taken up and afterwards let loose in their native woods.

In the year 1829 I was in a portion of lower Louisiana where the opossum abounds at all seasons, and having been asked by the president and the secretary of the Zoological Society of London to forward live animals of this species to them, I offered a price a little above the common and soon found myself plentifully supplied, twenty-five having been brought to me. I found them excessively voracious and not less cowardly. They were put into a large box with a great quantity of
food and conveyed to a steamer bound for New Orleans. Two days afterwards I went to the city to see about sending them off to Europe; but to my surprise I found that the old males had destroyed the younger ones and eaten off their heads and that only sixteen remained alive. A separate box was purchased for each and some time after they reached my friends the Rathbones of Liverpool, who with their usual attention sent them off to London where, on my return, I saw a good number of them in the
Zoological Gardens.

This animal is fond of grapes, of which a species now bears its name. Persimmons are greedily eaten by it, and in severe weather I have observed it eating lichens. Fowls of every kind and quadrupeds less powerful than itself, are also its habitual prey.

The flesh of the opossum resembles that of a young pig and would perhaps be as highly prized were it not for the prejudice generally entertained against it. Some “very particular” persons, to my knowledge, have pronounced it excellent eating. After cleaning
its body, suspend it for a whole week in the frosty air, for it is not eaten in summer; then place it on a heap of hot wood embers; sprinkle it when cooked with gunpowder; and now tell me, good reader, does it not equal the famed
Canvas-back Duck? Should you visit any of our markets you may see it there in company with the best game.

I have so frequently spoken of the Mississippi that an account of the progress of navigation on that extraordinary stream may be interesting even to the student of nature. I shall commence with the year 1808, at which time a great portion of the western country, and the banks of the Mississippi River from above the city of Natchez particularly, were little more than a waste, or to use words better suited to my feelings, remained in their natural state. To ascend the great stream against a powerful current, rendered still stronger wherever islands occurred, together with the thousands of sand-banks as liable to changes and shiftings as the alluvial shores themselves, which at every deep curve or bend were seen giving way as if crushed down by the weight of the great forests that everywhere reached to the very edge of the water, and falling and sinking in the muddy stream by acres at a time, was an adventure of no small difficulty and risk, and which was rendered more so by the innumerable logs called sawyers and planters that everywhere raised their heads above the water as if bidding defiance to all intruders. Few white inhabitants had yet marched towards its shores and these few were of a class little able to assist the navigator. Here and there a solitary encampment of native
Indians might be seen, but its inmates were as likely to prove foes as friends, having from their birth been made keenly sensible of the encroachments of the white men upon their lands.