The Audubon Reader (87 page)

Few persons can better than myself appreciate the pleasures felt by the weary traveler when he sees before him the place of repose for which he has long been seeking. Methinks I see him advance with a momentary renovation of vigor and, although heavily laden, with expanded chest and brightened eye. He has now reached his home, embraced his family, laid aside his gun and thrown off his knapsack; while his faithful dog, glad too no doubt, lays himself down, wags his tail, and casting glances of friendship around, kindly licks the hands of the children who are caressing him. Anxiety of another nature now prevails among the members of the happy group; the contents of the traveler’s wallet [i.e., knapsack] are sought for and arranged in view of the whole family. One looks at this and likes it, another has caught hold of a different object, the oldest perhaps reads the “journal,” while some prefer gazing on the sketches “from nature.” Meanwhile the traveler and his dearest friend feel perfectly happy in being once more together—never again to part.

Now, Reader, you may well imagine how happy I am at this moment when, like the traveler alluded to, I find my journeys all finished, my anxieties vanished, my mission accomplished; and when I expect soon to see myself and my dearest friends seated beneath lofty and fragrant trees, listening to the gay carolings of the Mockingbird, or the sweet though perhaps melancholy song of my favorite, the
Wood Thrush. Fishing tackle, bird nets and a good gun will then be often exchanged for the pencil and the pen; and although I can never entirely relinquish the pleasure of noting
new facts in zoology, or of portraying natural objects, whether on canvass or on paper, I shall undertake few journeys save short rambles for amusement. If I have a regret at this moment, it is that I cannot transfer to you the whole of the practical knowledge which I have acquired during so many years of enthusiastic devotion to the study of nature.

You will perceive that the number of species of birds which have been discovered, figured and described since the publication of the
American Ornithology
by
Alexander Wilson is very great. Indeed, the list is now extended to double the length that it shewed at the period of his death, or even when his work was completed by the addition of the ninth volume. Yet I am confident that very many species remain to be added by future observers who shall traverse the vast wastes extending northward and westward from the Canadas and along the western slopes of the Rocky Mountains from Nootka to California. Nay, I look upon the whole range of those magnificent mountains as being yet unexplored, for the few scientific travelers who have traversed it have merely, as it were, picked up the scattered objects that crossed their path. Of this I am persuaded in consequence of the many conversations I have had with my friend Thomas Nuttall and the notices which I have received from Dr. Townsend, as well as the valuable observations transmitted in a letter to me by my friend Dr. Richardson. Both Captain James Ross and
Captain Back of the British Navy have assured me that they saw curious birds which they were unable to procure. Indeed, this has been the case with myself, even in some of the inhabited portions of the United States, as well as in Labrador and Newfoundland. Therefore, Reader, I would strongly advise you to make up your mind, shoulder your gun, muster all your spirits and start in search of the interesting unknown, of which I greatly regret I cannot more go in pursuit—not for want of will, but of the vigor and elasticity necessary for so arduous an enterprise. Should you agree to undertake the task, and prove fortunate enough to return full of knowledge, laden with objects new and rare, be pleased, when you publish
your
work, to place my name in the list of subscribers, and be assured that
I
will not “leave you in the lurch.”

Now, supposing that you are full of ardor and ready to proceed, allow me to offer you a little advice. Leave nothing to memory but
note down all your observations with
ink
, not with a black-lead pencil; and keep in mind that the more particulars you write at the time, the more you will afterwards recollect. Work not at night, but anticipate the morning dawn, and never think for an instant about the difficulties of ransacking the woods, the shores or the barren grounds, nor be vexed when you have traversed a few hundred miles of country without finding a single new species. It may, indeed it not unfrequently does happen, that after days or even weeks of fruitless search, one enters a grove, or comes upon a pond, or forces his way through the tall grass of a prairie and suddenly meets with several objects, all new, all beautiful and perhaps all suited to the palate. Then how delightful will be your feelings and how marvelously all fatigue will vanish! Think, for instance, that you are on one of the declivities of the Rocky Mountains with shaggy and abrupt banks on each side of you, while the naked cliffs tower high over head as if with the wish to reach the sky. Your trusty gun has brought to the ground a most splendid “American pheasant” weighing fully two pounds! What a treat! You have been surprised at the length of its tail, you have taken the precise measurement of all its parts and given a brief description of it. Have you read this twice, corrected errors and supplied deficiencies? “Yes,” you say. Very well; now you have begun your drawing of this precious bird! Ah! you have finished it. Now then, you skin the beautiful creature, and are pleased to find it plump and fat. You have, I find, studied comparative anatomy under my friend Macgillivray, and at last have finished your examination of the esophagus, gizzard, coeca, trachea and bronchi. On the ignited dry castings of a buffalo, you have laid the body, and it is now almost ready to satisfy the longings of your stomach as it hisses in its odorous sap. The brook at your feet affords the very best drink that nature can supply, and I need not wish you better fare than that before you. Next morning you find yourself refreshed and reinvigorated, more ardent than ever, for success fails not to excite the desire of those who have entered upon the study of nature. You have packed your bird skin flat in your box, rolled up your drawing round those previously made and now, day after day, you push through thick and thin, sometimes with success, sometimes without; but you at last return with such a load on your
shoulders as I have often carried on mine. Having once more reached the settlements, you relieve your tired limbs by mounting a horse, and at length gaining a seaport, you sail for England, if that be your country, or you repair to Boston, New York or Baltimore, where you will find means of publishing the results of your journey …

I have pleasure in saying that my enemies have been few and my friends numerous. May the God who granted me life, industry and perseverance to accomplish my task, forgive the former and forever bless the latter!