The Audubon Reader (26 page)

You are presented [in the plate], kind reader, with three figures of this species, the better to shew you the differences which exist between the young and the full-grown bird. The contrast of coloring in these different stages I have thought it necessary to exhibit, as the
Red Owl
of [Alexander] Wilson and other naturalists is merely the young of the bird called by the same authors the
Mottled Owl
and which in fact is the adult of the species under consideration. The error committed by the author of the
American Ornithology
[i.e., Wilson] for many years misled all subsequent students of nature; and the specific identity of the two birds which he had described as distinct under the above names was first publicly maintained by my friend
Charles-Lucien Bonaparte, although the fact was long before known to many individuals with whom I am acquainted, as well as to myself.

The flight of the Mottled Owl is smooth, rapid, protracted and noiseless. It rises at times above the top branches of the highest of our forest trees whilst in pursuit of large beetles, and at other times sails low and swiftly over the fields or through the woods in search of small birds, field-mice, moles or wood rats, from which it chiefly derives its subsistence. On alighting, which it does plumply, the Mottled Owl immediately bends its body, turns its head to look behind it, performs a curious nod, utters its notes, then shakes and plumes itself and resumes its flight in search of prey. It now and then while on wing produces a
clicking
sound with its mandibles, but more frequently when perched near its mate or young. This I have thought is done by the bird to manifest its courage and let
the hearer know that it is not to be meddled with, although few birds of prey are more gentle when seized, as it will suffer a person to touch its feathers and caress it without attempting to bite or strike with its talons, unless at rare intervals. I carried one of the
young birds represented in the plate in my coat pocket from Philadelphia to New York, traveling alternately by water and by land. It remained generally quiet, fed from the hand and never attempted to escape. It was given me by my good friend Dr. Richard Harlan of Philadelphia and was lost at sea in the course of my last voyage to England.

The notes of this Owl are uttered in a tremulous, doleful manner and somewhat resemble the chattering of the teeth of a person under the influence of extreme cold, although much louder. They are heard at a distance of several hundred yards and by some people are thought to be of ominous import.

The little fellow is generally found about farmhouses, orchards and gardens. It alights on the roof, the fence or the garden gate and utters its mournful ditty at intervals for hours at a time as if it were in a state of great suffering, although this is far from being the case, the song of all birds being an indication of content and happiness. In a state of confinement it continues to utter its notes with as much satisfaction as if at liberty. They are chiefly heard during the latter part of winter, that being the season of love, when the male bird is particularly attentive to the fair one which excites his tender emotions and around which he flies and struts much in the manner of the
Common Pigeon, adding numerous nods and bows, the sight of which is very amusing.

The
nest is placed in the bottom of the hollow trunk of a tree, often not at a greater height than six or seven feet from the ground, at other times so high as from thirty to forty feet. It is composed of a few grasses and feathers. The
eggs are four or five, of a nearly globular form and pure white color. If not disturbed, this species lays only one set of eggs in the season. The young remain in the nest until they are able to fly. At first they are covered with a downy substance of a dull yellowish white. By the middle of August they are fully feathered and are then generally of the color exhibited in the plate, although considerable differences exist between individuals, as I have seen some of a deep chocolate color and others
nearly black. The feathers change their colors as the pairing season advances, and in the first spring the bird is in its perfect dress.

After nearly thirty years of observation, I may say, hardly interrupted, I may be allowed to draw your attention to the following fact as highly curious. I have observed that every species of Owl which breeds in the Northern and Middle states is considerably more deficient in its powers of vision during the day or on moonlight nights when the ground is covered with snow than the species that breed in, and consequently may be considered as residents of, more northern countries, such as the Snow Owl, the
Forked-tailed Owl, and the
Hawk Owl, all of which shew no material difference in their power of vision, be the sun or moon shining ever so brightly on the snow. I have frequently approached the
Great Horned Owl, as well as every other species that breeds in the United States, during what I call
glaring
snows, whilst on the same day my attempts to approach the Snow Owl or the Hawk Owl were ineffectual. Yet on examining the structure of the eyes of all these species I have found little or no difference in them. I wish some competent anatomist would investigate this singular fact, and communicate the result of his inquiries for the benefit of the scientific world, and that of the author of the biography of the birds of the United States.

The Mottled Owl rests or spends the day either in a hole of some decayed tree or in the thickest part of the evergreens which are found so abundantly in the country, to which it usually resorts during the breeding season as well as in the depth of winter.

The branch on which you see three individuals of this species, an adult bird and two young ones, is that of the Jersey Pine (
Pinus inops
), a tree of moderate height and diameter and of a scrubby appearance. The stem is generally crooked and the wood is not considered of great utility. It grows in large groves in the state from which it has derived its name and is now mostly used for fuel on board our steam vessels. The Mottled Owl is often observed perched on its branches.

[The Little Screech Owl (Eastern Screech Owl),
Otus asia
, appears in Plate 97 of
The Birds of America
.]

About twelve years ago I was conveyed along with my son Victor from Bayou Sarah to the mouth of the Ohio on board the steamer
Magnet
, commanded by Mr. McKnight, to whom I here again offer my best thanks for his attentions. The very sight of the waters of that beautiful river filled me with joy as we approached the little village of Trinity, where we were landed along with several other passengers, the water being too low to enable the vessel to proceed to Louisville. No horses could be procured, and as I was anxious to continue my journey without delay, I consigned my effects to the care of the tavern keeper, who engaged to have them forwarded by the first opportunity. My son, who was not fourteen, with all the ardour of youth, considered himself able to accomplish on foot the long journey which we contemplated. Two of the passengers evinced a desire to accompany us, “provided,” said the tallest and stoutest of them, “the lad can keep up. My business,” he continued, “is urgent, and I shall push for Frankfort pretty fast.” Dinner, to which we had contributed some fish from the river, being over, my boy and I took a ramble along the shores of
Cache Creek, on which some years before I had been detained several weeks by ice. We slept at the tavern and next morning prepared for our journey, and were joined by our companions, although it was past twelve before we crossed the creek.

One of our fellow travelers, named Rose, who was a delicate and gentlemanly person, acknowledged that he was not a good walker and said he was glad that my son was with us, as he might be able to keep up with the lively youth. The other, a burly personage, at once pushed forward. We walked in Indian file along the
narrow track cut through the canes, passed a wood yard and entered the burnt forest, in which we met with so many logs and briars that we judged it better to make for the river, the course of which we followed over a bed of pebbles, my son sometimes ahead and again falling back, until we reached America, a village having a fine situation but with a shallow approach to the shore. Here we halted at the best house, as every traveler ought to do, whether pedestrian or equestrian, for he is there sure of being well treated and will not have more to pay than in an inferior place.

Now we constituted Mr. Rose our purser. We had walked twelve miles over rugged paths and pebbly shores and soon proceeded along the edge of the river. Seven tough miles ended, we found a house near the bank and in it we determined to pass the night. The first person we met with was a woman picking cotton in a small field. On asking her if we might stay in her cabin for the night, she answered we might and hoped we could make a shift with the fare on which she and her husband lived. While she went to the house to prepare supper, I took my son and Mr. Rose to the water, knowing how much we should be refreshed by a bath. Our fellow traveler refused and stretched himself on a bench by the door. The sun was setting; thousands of
robins were flying southward in the calm and clear air; the Ohio was spread before us smooth as a mirror, and into its waters we leaped with pleasure. In a short time the good man of the hut called us to supper and in a trice we were at his heels. He was a tall rawboned fellow with an honest bronzed face. After our frugal meal we all four lay down in a large bed spread on the floor while the good people went up to a loft.

The woodsman, having agreeably to our instructions roused us at daybreak, told us that about seven miles farther we should meet with a breakfast much better than the last supper we had. He refused any pecuniary compensation but accepted from me a knife. So we again started. My dear boy appeared very weak at first, but soon recovered, and our stout companion, whom I shall call S., evidently shewed symptoms of lassitude. On arriving at the cabin of a lazy man blessed with an industrious wife and six healthy children, all of whom labored for his support, we were welcomed by the woman, whose motions and language indicated her right to
belong to a much higher class. Better breakfast I never ate: the bread was made of new corn ground on a tin grater by the beautiful hands of our blue-eyed hostess; the chickens had been prepared by one of her lovely daughters; some good coffee was added and my son had fresh milk. The good woman, who now held a babe to her bosom, seemed pleased to see how heartily we all ate; the children went to work and the lazy husband went to the door to smoke a corncob pipe. A dollar was put into the ruddy hand of the chubby urchin and we bade its mother farewell. Again we trudged along the beach but after a while betook ourselves to the woods. My son became faint. Dear boy! never can I forget how he lay exhausted on a log, large tears rolling down his cheeks. I bathed his temples, spoke soothingly to him, and chancing to see a fine turkey cock run close by, directed his attention to it, when as if suddenly refreshed, he got up and ran a few yards towards the bird. From that moment he seemed to acquire new vigor, and at length we reached Wilcox’s, where we stopped for the night. We were reluctantly received at the house, and had little attention paid to us, but we had a meal and went to bed.

The sun rose in all its splendor and the Ohio reflected its ruddy beams. A finer view of that river can scarcely be obtained than that from the house which we were leaving. Two miles through intricate woods brought us to Belgrade, and having passed Fort Massacre, we halted and took breakfast. S. gave us to understand that the want of roads made traveling very unpleasant; he was not, he added, in the habit of “skulking through the bushes or tramping over stony bars in the full sunshine,” but how else he had traveled was not explained. Mr. Rose kept up about as well as Victor and I now led the way. Towards sunset we reached the shores of the river opposite the mouth of the Cumberland. On a hill, the property of a Major B., we found a house and a solitary woman, wretchedly poor but very kind. She assured us that if we could not cross the river, she would give us food and shelter for the night, but said that as the moon was up, she could get us put over when her skiff came back. Hungry and fatigued we laid us down on the brown grass, waiting either a scanty meal or the skiff that was to convey us across the river. I had already grated the corn for our supper, run down the chickens and made a fire, when a cry of “Boat
coming” roused us all. We crossed half of the Ohio, walked over Cumberland Isle and after a short ferry found ourselves in
Kentucky, the native land of my beloved sons. I was now within a few miles of the spot where, some years before, I had a horse killed under me by lightning.

It is unnecessary to detain you with a long narrative, and state every occurrence until we reached the banks of
Green River. We had left Trinity at twelve o’clock of the 15th October, and on the morning of the 18th four travelers descending a hill were admiring the reflection of the sun’s rays on the forest-margined horizon. The frost which lay thick on the ground and the fences glittered in the sheen and dissolved away; all nature seemed beautiful in its calm repose; but the pleasure which I felt on gazing on the scene was damped by the fatigue of my son, who now limped like a lamed turkey, although, as the rest of the party were not much better off, he smiled, straightened himself and strove to keep up with us. Poor S. was panting many yards behind and was talking of purchasing a horse. We had now, however, a tolerably good road, and in the evening got to a house where I inquired if we could have a supper and beds. When I came out Victor was asleep on the grass, Mr. Rose looking at his sore toes and S. just finishing a jug of Monongahela. Here we resolved that instead of going by Henderson we should take a cut across to the right and make direct for
Smith’s Ferry by way of
Highland Lick Creek.