John Woodhouse Audubon, the younger of the two sons of John James Audubon and his wife, Lucy Bakewell, was born in Henderson, Kentucky, November 30, 1812. Those who recall the life of the ornithologist may remember that at this time he was far from his days of prosperity, and was trying to be a business man, with saw-mills and lumber; a venture, which like all his business efforts, did not succeed. Therefore, almost before the boy John remembered, the wandering days began for him, which continued virtually all his life. During his boyhood these wanderings were chiefly confined to that portion of the United States south of the Ohio River, and largely to Louisiana, a section of country he always loved.

As a child, though small and slender, he was strong and active and delighted in the open air life which was indeed his second nature; and he was proficient in swimming, shooting, fishing and all out-door sports and pleasures, while still a boy. He was rather averse to the needful studies which kept him from the woods and streams, but which his mother never permitted him to neglect. She was, herself, the teacher of her sons in their earlier years, and a most thorough one, as later generations can testify, sending them to school only when she realized that they needed contact with boys of their own age; but the home education was never given up. Both she and Mr. Audubon were excellent musicians, great readers, and most desirous that their children should be prepared, as fully as possible, to enter the world as educated, and even accomplished men. Drawing was an important matter always, and both sons, Victor and John, became well skilled in this art, but in different lines, the first in landscape, the second in delineating birds and quadrupeds—or as the scientists say today, mammals—the latter being his specialty, though the first intention was that he should be a portrait painter.

The boys while children were usually together, and were sent to school at the same time, though Victor was three years the elder, but at times they were separated. Victor was a quiet, studious boy, and a great favorite with the elder members of his mother's family, the Bakewells, while John, who was full of mischief, very restless, always most successful in getting his young cousins as well as himself into all sorts of scrapes, was naturally less in demand. When Mr. and Mrs. Audubon were wandering from place to place, Victor was frequently with relatives in Louisville, and at an early age became a clerk in the office of Mr. Nicholas Berthoud, who had married a sister of Mrs. Audubon. He was in this position when his father sailed for England in 1826, while John remained in Louisiana with his mother at Bayou Sara, where she was then teaching.

At this period of his life John spent much time drawing from nature, and playing the violin, of which he was passionately fond all his life. While his father was pushing the publication of "The Birds of America" in England and Scotland, he at one time supplemented the slender finances of the family, in a small way, by taking occasional trips on the Mississippi river steamboats as a clerk. It was very uncongenial work to the restless youth, and, from what can be learned, was rather indifferently done; but he was a great favorite with all with whom he came in contact, and usually found some one to help him over his mistakes, and indeed on occasion to do his work, while he, with his violin was in great demand on the decks of the steamboats, in those days scenes of much gaiety, some of which was of more than doubtful quality. After a comparatively short season of mingled work and play, Mrs. Audubon withdrew him from what Louisianians called "the river," and he returned to his work in painting and in collecting specimens which his father wanted for the various friends and scientists with whom he was now constantly in touch.

The elder Audubon upon his return from Europe took the family, after a few weeks in Louisiana, further north, and they were some time in the vicinity of Philadelphia and New York. In 1830 the two brothers were left in America while Mr. and Mrs. Audubon were in England and France, and again John tried his hand at clerkship with better success than in his earlier years, but not for long.

On his return to America Mr. Audubon made plans for a summer in Labrador and in 1833 made this journey, John with three other young men accompanying him. The days were not only long, but arduous. John was not quite twenty-one, and his love of fun was as strong as in his boyhood, but he found none in being called at three in the morning to search for birds, being frequently drenched to the skin all day, and working with bird skins through "the interminable twilights." Nevertheless he and his young companions found time to rob salmon preserves when the fishermen would not sell, to slip on land when opportunity offered, to attend some of the very primitive balls and other amusements to be found on these desolate shores, and to extract pleasures which perhaps youth alone could have found among such surroundings.

So passed the years taking boyhood and youth with them until 1834, when the Audubon family all went to England and Scotland, where both young men painted very steadily, making copies of many of the celebrated pictures within reach of which they now found themselves. At this time John confined himself almost wholly to copying portraits, principally those of Sir Thomas Lawrence, whose friendship was most valuable to him, of Van Dyke and Murillo, and, when in Edinburgh, giving great attention to the beautiful work of Sir Henry Raeburn. Some of these early pictures are still in the possession of the family, though many were sold and many given away. He also painted some water colors of birds, which are said to be good work by those who know them.

This period of study was broken, however, by a trip to the continent taken by the brothers together. The route followed was the one then called "The Grand Tour," extending as far as Italy. The brothers, always most closely united, congenial in thoughts and tastes, thoroughly enjoyed the novel scenes and experiences, for which they were well fitted both physically and mentally. They were tall, handsome young men, full of health and strength, and the joyousness of youth. The careful preparation in the reading of books of travel and literature, and the fact that they were excellent French scholars, added greatly to the interest of the journey.

But busier days than these were in store, when the Audubons returned to America, and the collection of new species demanded the attention of the naturalist, and the assistance of his sons. Victor attended to most of the business details, partly in England and partly in America, while my father and grandfather searched the woods, and in 1836 went as far south as the Gulf of Mexico. It was at the beginning of this trip that, passing through Charleston, a visit was paid to the home of Dr. John Bachman, and the attachment began between my father and Maria Bachman, which resulted in their marriage in 1837.

Shortly after John and his young wife went to England, where his father had again gone to superintend the continued publication of the plates in London, and here their first child, Lucy, was born. Six months later, John with his wife and child returned to America. The next two years were spent partly in New York, partly in the south, in the vain hope of finding health and strength for the delicate young mother, but all was unavailing, and she died leaving two little daughters, one an infant. Later John Audubon married an English lady, Caroline Hall, and to them seven children were born, five of whom lived to maturity.

At this time the country place on the Hudson river near New York City, which had been bought in 1840, was built upon. Today it is well nigh lost in the rapidly advancing streets and avenues, but at this time it was almost primitive forest, and here for some years lived the naturalist and his wife, with the two sons and their respective families. It is hard today to picture the surroundings of that time. No railroad cut off the waters of the lovely river, then the highway from the ocean to Albany, and alive with craft of many kinds. The other three sides were heavily wooded; and neighbors there were none, for it was not until some years later that other homes began slowly to appear here and there. Few if any of the friends of the Audubons in those days are left on earth, and the houses where they once lived have, with few exceptions, either been torn down or so altered that their former owners would not recognize them.

Minniesland with its large gardens and orchards, especially celebrated for peaches, its poultry yards and dairy which added to the comfort of the home and of the many guests who always found a welcome there, had an interesting side in the elk, deer, moose, foxes, wolves and other wildwood creatures which were kept for study and pleasure; and still another in the books, pictures and curios within the ever hospitable house, but more than all was the charm of the tall gray-haired old man, who by talent, industry, and almost incredible perseverance won it for those he loved.

The early days at Minniesland were very happy ones for all. The "Quadrupeds of North America" had been begun and was of intense interest to father and sons, and the work he was doing for this publication, the superintendence of the animal life about the home, the varied enjoyments and duties of the country place gave my father ample occupation. He loved the Hudson and the Palisades, the woods and walks about him, was devoted to his family and these were years he delighted to recall.

Many men were employed in one capacity or another and "Mr. John," as he was always called, was a great favorite. He had the rare gift of keeping these men friends, while he was perfectly understood to be the master; they were thoroughly at home with him, yet never familiar, and this position, so difficult to maintain, he held with all. As the village of Manhattanville, a little lower down the river, grew in size, many of the men from there used to walk up on summer evenings to help "haul the seine;" for fish were plentiful and good in the Hudson then; and where "Mr. John" was, disturbance or insolence was unknown, his orders to each man were respected, his division of fish always satisfied.

An interruption in this tranquil life came in 1843 when Audubon the elder went to the Yellowstone country, and both sons were anxious about their father until his return; they felt that he was too old for such an arduous journey, but he was determined to go, and his safe return ended all alarm for his safety. Another break came in 1845 when my father went to Texas to find mammals to depict in the new work being published, and possibly birds not yet described. He took with him as sole companion of his travels James B. Clement, one of the men about the place, in whom he had—and most justly—perfect confidence. He was in Texas many months, travelling quite extensively, and at a time when the Indians were not friendly. Even more danger might be apprehended from the white men of desperate character, who had drifted to that region either to escape punishment for previous crimes, or to find themselves so far from law and order that they could commit fresh ones in safety. It was on this trip that my father met Colonel Hays, well known then as "Jack Hays the Texan Ranger," between whom and himself a strong friendship was formed, and to whom my father felt much indebted; as, knowing the country so well, Colonel Hays gave him valuable aid in choosing routes, selecting Indians as guides and hunters, and in avoiding camps and settlements where he would certainly have been robbed, and possibly murdered, had he offered to protect his possessions, for at that time all money had to be carried in coin.

Upon this journey my father was very successful in securing specimens. When he returned he brought one of his hunters, a half-breed Indian named Henry Clay, a name which had probably been given to him in jest. This man was my father's shadow; he was very skillful in the care of the animals, a splendid boatman and fisherman and very valuable about the place. But civilization was too wearisome for him, he left two or three times and came back, but about 1852 returned to Texas with Captain McCown.[2]

In 1846, the year following the Texan journey, John Audubon with his wife and children went to Europe, in order that he might paint pictures—still for the "Quadrupeds"—from some of the specimens he could find only in the zoological collections of London, Paris and Berlin, and he was absent on this work more than a year and a half. It was a period of most arduous work; his letters home were very short, though he was an easy and rapid writer. The reason for this brevity was, as he often explains, that his arm and hand were tired with the long days of steady painting; particularly when the fur of the animals he was delineating was of unusual length, for this was before the days of "dabs and smudges" and minuteness of detail was insisted on both by the elder Audubon and by the engravers. These were long months to him as most of them were passed in crowded cities, where he missed the forests and rivers, his home and the free life to which he was accustomed. Many times in the letters written to those at Minniesland, he declares his intention of never leaving home again, an intention he was unable to carry out.

In 1849 he joined a California company, being urged thereto by the Messrs. Kingsland, who were warm personal friends and who were then backing Col. Henry L. Webb who had been in Mexico and advocated that route for the company he was collecting. My father's idea was that such a journey offered splendid opportunities to secure specimens of birds and mammals. It was proposed that he should give the company his knowledge of a backwoodsman's life, which was extensive, and be second in command to Colonel Webb, a responsibility which he rather hesitated to accept, as he wished the freedom of leaving the party anywhere he chose after reaching California. Finally, however, he signed papers with Messrs. Daniel C. and Ambrose Kingsland, and Cornelius Sutton, (Colonel Webb signing also), to stay with the company for one year, when they expected to reach their destination and be on the high road to wealth.

In Colonel Webb's company the contracts were individual. The company supplied everything but the personal belongings of each man and his horse, and he in return was supposed to repay with legal interest his share of expenses when he reached the El Dorado, and to this end his work and his earnings were the company's for a year from the time of signing. If when the contracts expired there were any profits, these were to be divided in a certain ratio. My father's contract was signed January 31, 1849, and the fact that he was going induced many of his personal friends and acquaintances to join also. Almost all the men employed at Minniesland went with "Mr. John." To the daughter of one of these, Mrs. Alice Walsh Tone, I am much indebted for help in names and dates.

The journey across the continent in 1849 with no regular means of communication with home and friends, through a country virtually unknown, and when Indians were still numerous; without cities to enable travelers to get fresh supplies of food and clothing, and with no very definite knowledge of the road, was a serious matter under the best of conditions and on the best route. What it was with men who, with few exceptions, knew nothing of the life before them, who were impoverished by robbery, discouraged by death and disease and deserted by their leader, upon a route of which my father never approved, may be best learned from his "Journal." The journey was a terrible disappointment to him, as he says: "my arsenic is broadcast on the barren clay soil of Mexico, the paper in which to preserve plants was used for gun-wadding, and, though I clung to them to the last, my paints and canvases were left on the Gila desert of awful memories."

In July, 1850, he sailed for home, which he reached in safety after the delay of a week at the Isthmus of Panama. Most unfortunately all his paintings, which were of course sketches to be worked up from notes, and most of the water colors he had made, nearly two hundred in all, had to be left temporarily at Sacramento; later they were taken to San Francisco and Mr. Robert Simson took charge of them for a time. He entrusted them, at my father's request, to Mr. John Stevens and with that noble man and true friend they went down in the wreck of the steamer "Central America."

It would be interesting to follow the careers of those who made the California journey with my father, but the lapse of fifty-six years makes this almost impossible, and very few traces of the members of the party can be found, nor indeed can any full list of those who left New Orleans with him be made. James B. Clement remained in Stockton as did Nicholas Walsh and John H. Tone; they became fruit growers and were successful in the land of their adoption. Henry C. Mallory entered business in San Francisco, married and lived in that city until his death, now a number of years ago. Robert Simson died not long since; he lived for some time in San Francisco, being a partner in a legal firm, afterwards removing to Alameda. He married rather late in life, and left a widow and one son. Langdon Havens returned to his home at Fort Washington and many others also came back to the east. The greater part of the company, I believe, remained upon the Pacific Slope; but I have been unable to locate them or their descendants, except in the few instances I have mentioned. Though the company proved an utter failure financially, yet nearly every man eventually reimbursed the Messrs. Kingsland for their outlay, and in five instances the friends of those who died did for them that, which living they would doubtless have done for themselves.

At the time of the California journey my father was thirty-six, tall, strong and alert though always slender, keen of vision and hearing, quick in movement and temperament, and with most tender and skillful hands as those have testified whom he nursed in the dreadful cholera days. He had inherited from his father the gift of making and keeping friends among all classes, and of giving them confidence in him—the result of his quick and deep sympathy, his unselfishness and his absolute truthfulness. He was never indolent; whatever work had to be done, his was the hardest part—he never shirked, never grumbled. As evidence of this trait of his character I quote from one of his companions, Lieutenant Browning, whose son has kindly given me some extracts from his letters: "Mr. Audubon is always doing somebody's else work as well as his own;" "Mr. Audubon never thinks of himself, I never knew such a big-hearted man." I will touch on only one other characteristic. He was subject to periods of the deepest depressions, a trait also inherited from his father, which sometimes weighed his spirits down for days, and which it seemed impossible for him to dispel. Often on this California journey the effort to appear bright and cheerful when he was in one of these moods physically exhausted him, and in some of his letters he speaks of the relief it was when night came and he was alone, and had no need to look or be other than he felt. He never outlived these attacks as the naturalist did, perhaps because his life was so much shorter.

My father's home-coming showed him many sad changes, for his father was now not only an old but a broken man, and the spirit of the home was no longer joyous. Father, mother, and sons had always been most united, unusually so it seems, as many incidents and events are recalled. Possibly this deep affection was the result of the struggles of early days, which, throwing them so much on each other for companionship, developed a sympathy with one another which lives full of separate interests would not have fostered—possibly the great similarity of work and tastes drew them closer to each other than when such conditions do not exist, but whatever the reason, it is certain that the ties which held them together were never loosened but by death; and so, when in January, 1851, he who had been the light of the home passed away, the break was most keenly and deeply felt.

In 1853 two new houses near the original one, now grown too small for the many children, were completed and these Victor and John Audubon occupied with their families, the mother living with one son or the other as the spirit moved her. The continued publication of "The Quadrupeds" and the octavo edition of "The Birds" occupied both my uncle and father. The latter reduced all the large plates of the birds to the desired size by means of the camera lucida, his delicate and exact work fitting him for the exquisitely minute details required. Much of each winter was spent in the southern states, securing subscribers.

In 1853 a great sorrow came in the death of a little daughter, and soon after even a heavier. Victor Audubon began to fail in health, the result of a fall which at the time was thought to be of no moment, but which had injured the spine. Through long years it was agony to my father to witness the constant decline of the brother with whom his entire life was so intimately associated and to whom he was so deeply attached. Nothing could stay the progress of the malady and on the seventeenth of August, 1860, came the parting which had so long been dreaded.

During this long period of my uncle's illness all the care of both families devolved on my father. Never a "business man," saddened by his brother's condition, and utterly unable to manage at the same time a fairly large estate, the publication of two illustrated works, every plate of which he felt he must personally examine, the securing of subscribers and the financial condition of everything—what wonder that he rapidly aged, what wonder that the burden was overwhelming! After my uncle's death matters became still more difficult to handle, owing to the unsettled condition of the southern states where most of the subscribers to Audubon's books resided, and when the open rupture came between north and south, the condition of affairs can hardly be imagined, except by those who lived through similar bitter and painful experiences.

Worn out in body and spirit, overburdened with anxieties, saddened by the condition of his country, it is no matter of surprise that my father could not throw off a heavy cold which attacked him early in 1862. On the evening of Tuesday, February 18, he was playing on his violin some of the Scotch airs of which he was so fond, when suddenly putting down the instrument he said he had so much fever he would retire. Before morning delirium set in, and for two days and nights he wandered in spirit over the many lands where once in health and strength the happy boy, the joyous youth, the earnest man had traveled in body. Especially was the Californian trip present in his fevered mind, and incidents and scenes were once more vividly before him, until on the twenty-first he fell asleep never to awaken here, and, as the stormy night closed in, almost at the same hour as that on which his father died, he too took the last journey and entered into that unknown land, and was "forever free from storm and stress." His forty-nine years of life had been very full ones, he had touched the extremes of joy and sorrow, he had known failure and success; like his father he had never done anything indifferently. His enthusiasm carried him over many difficulties, his sympathy and generosity endeared him to every one and, when the end of the busy life came, there was left a vacant place, never to be filled, in the hearts of those who knew and loved him.

MARIA R. AUDUBON

Salem, New York, March 2, 1905.