The Audubon Reader (50 page)

I thought that while thus sailing no feeling but that of pleasure could exist in our breasts; but alas! how fleeting are our enjoyments. When we were almost at the entrance of the river the wind changed, the sky became clouded and before many minutes had elapsed the little bark was lying to “like a duck,” as her commander expressed himself. It blew a hurricane—let it blow, reader. At the break of day we were again at anchor within the bar of St. Augustine.

Our next attempt was successful. Not many hours after we had crossed the bar we perceived the star-like glimmer of the light in
the great lantern at the entrance of the St. John’s River. This was before daylight; and as the crossing of the sand banks or bars which occur at the mouths of all the streams of this peninsula is difficult and can be accomplished only when the tide is up, one of the guns was fired as a signal for the government pilot. The good man, it seemed, was unwilling to leave his couch, but a second gun brought him in his canoe alongside. The depth of the channel was barely sufficient. My eyes, however, were not directed towards the waters but on high, where flew some thousands of snowy
Pelicans which had fled affrighted from their resting grounds. How beautifully they performed their broad gyrations, and how matchless after awhile was the marshaling of their files as they flew past us!

On the tide we proceeded apace. Myriads of
Cormorants covered the face of the waters, and over it
Fish Crows innumerable were already arriving from their distant roosts. We landed at one place to search for the birds whose charming melodies had engaged our attention, and here and there some young
Eagles we shot to add to our store of fresh provisions! The river did not seem to me equal in beauty to the fair Ohio; the shores were in many places low and swampy, to the great delight of the numberless
Herons that moved along in gracefulness and the grim
alligators that swam in sluggish sullenness. In going up a bayou we caught a great number of the young of the latter for the purpose of making experiments upon them.

After sailing a considerable way, during which our commander and officers took the soundings as well as the angles and bearings of every nook and crook of the sinuous stream, we anchored one evening at a distance of fully one hundred miles from the mouth of the river. The weather, although it was the 12th of February, was quite warm, the thermometer on board standing at 75° and on shore at 90°. The fog was so thick that neither of the shores could be seen, and yet the river was not a mile in breadth. The “
blind mosquitoes” covered every object even in the cabin, and so wonderfully abundant were these tormentors that they more than once fairly extinguished the candles whilst I was writing my journal, which I closed in despair, crushing between the leaves more than a hundred of the little wretches. Bad as they are, however, these blind mosquitoes do not bite. As if purposely to render
our situation dou
bly uncomfortable, there was an establishment for jerking beef on the nearer shores to the windward of our vessel from which the breeze came laden with no sweet odors.

In the morning when I arose the country was still covered with thick fogs, so that although I could plainly hear the notes of the birds on shore, not an object could I see beyond the bowsprit and the air was as close and sultry as on the previous evening. Guided by the scent of the jerkers’ works we went on shore, where we found the vegetation already far advanced. The blossoms of the
jessamine, ever pleasing, lay steeped in dew; the humming bee was collecting her winter’s store from the snowy flowers of the native orange; and the little warblers frisked along the twigs of the
smilax. Now amid the tall
pines of the forest the sun’s rays began to force their way, and as the dense mists dissolved in the atmosphere, the bright luminary at length shone forth. We explored the woods around, guided by some friendly live-oakers who had pitched their camp in the vicinity. After a while the
Spark
again displayed her sails, and as she silently glided along we spied a
Seminole Indian approaching us in his canoe. The poor dejected son of the woods, endowed with talents of the highest order, although rarely acknowledged by the proud usurpers of his native soil, has spent the night in fishing and the morning in procuring the superb-feathered game of the swampy thickets; and with both he comes to offer them for our acceptance. Alas! thou fallen one, descendant of an ancient line of freeborn hunters, would that I could restore to thee thy birthright, thy natural independence, the generous feelings that were once fostered in thy brave bosom. But the irrevocable deed is done, and I can merely admire the perfect symmetry of his frame as he dexterously throws on our deck the trouts and turkeys which he has captured. He receives a recompense and without smile or bow or acknowledgement of any kind, off he starts with the speed of an arrow from his own bow.

Alligators were extremely abundant, and the heads of the fishes which they had snapped off lay floating around on the dark waters. A rifle bullet was now and then sent through the eye of one of the largest, which with a tremendous splash of its tail expired. One morning we saw a monstrous fellow lying on the shore. I was desirous of obtaining him to make an accurate drawing of his head
and, accompanied by my assistant and two of the sailors, proceeded cautiously towards him. When within a few yards, one of us fired and sent through his side an ounce ball which tore open a hole large enough to receive a man’s hand. He slowly raised his head, bent himself upwards, opened his huge jaws, swung his tail to and fro, rose on his legs, blew in a frightful manner and fell to the earth. My assistant leaped on shore and contrary to my injunctions caught hold of the animal’s tail when the alligator, awakening from its trance, with a last effort crawled slowly towards the water and plunged heavily into it. Had he thought of once flourishing his tremendous weapon there might have been an end of his assailant’s life, but he fortunately went in peace to his grave, where we left him, as the water was too deep. The same morning, another of equal size was observed swimming directly for the
bows
of our vessel, attracted by the gentle rippling of the water there. One of the officers, who had watched him, fired and scattered his brain through the air, when he tumbled and rolled at a fearful rate, blowing all the while most furiously. The river was bloody for yards around, but although the monster passed close by the vessel we could not secure him, and after awhile he sunk to the bottom.

Early one morning I hired a boat and two men with the view of returning to St. Augustine by a short cut. Our baggage being placed on board, I bade adieu to the officers and off we started. About four in the afternoon we arrived at the short cut, forty miles distant from our point of departure and where we had expected to procure a wagon, but were disappointed. So we laid our things on the bank and, leaving one of my assistants to look after them, I set out accompanied by the other and my
Newfoundland dog. We had eighteen miles to go; and as the sun was only two hours high we struck off at a good rate.

Presently we entered a pine barren. The country was as level as a floor; our path although narrow was well-beaten, having been used by the
Seminole Indians for ages, and the weather was calm and beautiful. Now and then a rivulet occurred from which we quenched our thirst, while the magnolias and other flowering plants on its banks relieved the dull uniformity of the woods. When the path separated into two branches both seemingly leading the same way, I would follow one while my companion took the other,
and unless we met again in a short time, one of us would go across the intervening forest.

The sun went down behind a cloud and the southeast breeze that sprung up at this moment sounded dolefully among the tall pines. Along the eastern horizon lay a bed of black vapor which gradually rose and soon covered the heavens. The air felt hot and oppressive and we knew that a tempest was approaching. Plato was now our guide, the white spots on his coat being the only objects that we could discern amid the darkness, and as if aware of his utility in this respect he kept a short way before us on the trail. Had we imagined ourselves more than a few miles from the town, we would have made a camp and remained under its shelter for the night; but conceiving that the distance could not be great, we resolved to trudge along.

Large drops began to fall from the murky mass overhead; thick, impenetrable darkness surrounded us, and to my dismay the dog refused to proceed. Groping with my hands on the ground I discovered that several trails branched out at the spot where he lay down; and when I had selected one he went on. Vivid flashes of lightning streamed across the heavens, the wind increased to a gale and the rain poured down upon us like a torrent. The water soon rose on the level ground so as almost to cover our feet and we slowly advanced, fronting the tempest. Here and there a tall pine on fire presented a magnificent spectacle, illumining the trees around it and surrounded with a halo of dim light abruptly bordered with the deep black of the night. At one time we passed through a tangled thicket of low trees, at another crossed a stream flushed by the heavy rain and again proceeded over the open barrens.

How long we thus half-lost groped our way is more than I can tell you; but at length the tempest passed over and suddenly the clear sky became spangled with stars. Soon after we smelt the salt marshes and walking directly towards them like pointers advancing on a covey of partridges we at last to our great joy descried the light of the beacon near St. Augustine. My dog began to run briskly around, having met with ground on which he had hunted before, and taking a direct course led us to the great causeway that crosses the marshes at the back of the town. We refreshed ourselves with the produce of the first orange tree that we met with and in
half an hour more arrived at our hotel. Drenched with rain, steaming with perspiration and covered to the knees with mud, you may imagine what figures we cut in the eyes of the good people whom we found snugly enjoying themselves in the sitting room. Next morning,
Major Gates, who had received me with much kindness, sent a wagon with mules and two trusty soldiers for my companion and luggage.

St. Augustine, East Florida

1 March 1832

My dear Harlan,

I am no longer on board the U.S. schooner
Spark
—nay, never again will I be on board.

Our expedition up the St. John’s River has proved a complete failure—after three weeks of existing we could not reach the Lake George—
no birds, no fishes, no turtles
—nay, scarcely any land fit for cultivation—never was a man more completely disappointed than I am and have been.

I sail, as soon as the wind will become favorable, for Charleston, with a view to sail from that place directly to Key West. Continue to forward all letters to the care of the Rev. John Bachman, Charleston. How does it happen that I have not had a line from you for a whole month? Has any accident befallen you …?

Louisville, Kentucky

19 March 1832

My dear husband

Your last from St. John’s River, February 17, has this morning been handed to me and first let me acknowledge your kindness in availing yourself of the opportunity of writing from your dismal residence, but let me ask why you are in that desolate region? Where there are no
new birds
why remain? Do not let enthusiasm make you quite forget what is due to yourself [and] to your family, and depend upon it my love the
world
will never repay either your toil, your privation or your purse.

I am now going to tell you a few unpleasant truths, and think it my duty so to do, for had we known precisely what was passing
here
when we were in London, what a different arrangement we should have made. Now in addition to all that then existed, the health of our sons is materially affected. John has had three or four slight attacks of illness, which plainly shew his mode of life does not agree with [him], yet he perseveres manfully in what he dislikes extremely, in the hope you will be able to make a change. His salary just feeds and clothes him, no more and barely that. As to Victor, he toils like a horse for $550 [a year], which is just enough to feed and clothe him, and I do not think W.B. [i.e., William Bakewell] has it in his power to do anything for him, not even to raise his salary, which I think ought to be [raised] when we consider the unbounded confidence and management he does and which it would be vain to seek elsewhere for.

My next trouble is that you still speak of staying so late in the South. Do come away, of what avail to see a little more or less of Florida if you lose your health or life? Your work calls for the
Birds of the United States
but you are multiplying it into a universal history. We are here counting, with pain and suspense, the days and weeks till we see you, Victor is patiently waiting your final determination towards him, losing time to opportunity, I cannot
think of being a burden much longer, and I cannot go to [New] Orleans. Mr. Brand has not ever acknowledged the Eagle or my letter, they are coming to this part of the country in April or first of May, and supposing we could finally settle our affairs without our sons being present I have no place to meet you at.

As to the trip across the
Rocky Mountains [that Audubon was hoping to make], I have made every possible inquiry about [it] from many persons who have traveled with the Indian traders and some of these persons are to be fully relied upon. They all concur in the danger at this period to be encountered from the disturbed
Indians. The company leave Franklin in Missouri the last of April and expect to be absent a year, that you cannot join, and if you did, they keep the beaten track stopping only at night, not for the benefit of natural history. And my dear it has been more than once suggested that your absence from London so long will be injurious to your work.