A contemporary writer[256] declared that Audubon's account of "Mason," the outlaw, whose name we are told should be spelled "Meason," was altogether fabulous; that he was not killed by a regulator party, nor was his head stuck upon a tree in the way described.[257] The same critic further discredited the naturalist's account of Daniel Boone, whom he had characterized as follows:[258] "The stature and general appearance of this wanderer of the western forests approached the gigantic. His chest was broad and prominent; his muscular powers displayed themselves in every limb; his countenance gave indication of his great courage, enterprise, and perseverance." "Boone," said this writer, "was under six feet high, probably not more than five feet, ten inches, and of that round, compact build, which makes little show. Though very active, he had the appearance of being rather slender and did not seem as large as he really was." In the case of the outlaw, Audubon no doubt retold a story that had passed from mouth to mouth, but he later learned to be wary of second-hand information, which in matters of natural history sometimes led him into more serious difficulties. In his description of Boone there was no more apparent motive to deceive than in the case of his own father, to whom his imagination had added nearly half a foot in stature.[259]

When Audubon was returning from Ste. Geneviève in the spring of 1812, an incident occurred in which, for the first time in the course of his wanderings for upwards of twenty-five years, he felt his life to be in danger from his fellow man.[260] Overtaken by night on the prairie, he approached the hearth fire of a small log cabin, which at first was mistaken for the campfire of some wandering Indians. On craving shelter, he was admitted by a tall, surly woman in coarse attire, who displayed both an evil eye and a repellent countenance; but she offered him a supper of venison and jerked buffalo meat and bade him to make his bed upon the floor. When she espied his gold watch and chain, her demeanor suddenly changed and she asked to take them in her hand; she put the chain around her brawny neck and by her manner betrayed every token of covetous desire. Meanwhile, a young Indian stoic, who was nursing a recent arrow wound, had been sitting in silence by the fire; though he spoke not a word, he cast an expressive glance in Audubon's direction whenever the woman's back was turned, and having drawn his knife from its scabbard, expressed in pantomime what the confiding stranger might eventually expect.

Audubon's suspicions were at last thoroughly aroused. He asked for his watch, and under pretense of forecasting the weather, took up his gun and sauntered out of the cabin; in the darkness outside he slipped a ball in each of the barrels of his gun, scraped the edges of his flints, renewed the primings, and returned with a favorable report of his observations. Then laying some deer skins on the floor in a corner and calling his faithful dog to his side, he lay down and to all appearances was soon asleep. Presently sounds of approaching voices were heard, and at length two sturdy youths, who were evidently the woman's sons, appeared bearing a dead stag, which they had slung to a pole; they asked at once about the stranger, and called loudly for whisky. Audubon tapped his dog, who showed by eye and tail that he was already alert. Observing that the whisky bottle was paying frequent visits to the mouths of the trio, he hoped that they would soon be reduced to a state of helplessness, but the woman was seen to take in her hands a large carving knife and go deliberately outside to whet its edge on a grindstone; then, calling to her drunken sons, she asked them to settle the stranger and bade them do their bloody work without delay. Audubon cocked both barrels of his gun, touched his dog again, and was resolved to shoot at the first suspicious move. At this dramatic moment the door suddenly opened and two burly travelers with rifles on their shoulders entered the cabin. Audubon sprang to his feet, and welcoming the strangers with open arms, lost no time in making known to them his desperate position. No parley was necessary, for, said he, they were regulators, who then and there took the law into their own hands. The woman and her sons were promptly secured, bound, and left until morning to sober off; they were then led into the woods and shot. "We marched them into the woods off the road," said Audubon, "and having used them as Regulators were wont to use such delinquents, we set fire to the cabin, gave all the skins and implements to the young Indian, and proceeded, well pleased, towards the settlements." Would you believe, he added, that not many miles from where this happened, "and where fifteen years ago, no habitation belonging to civilized man was expected, and very few ever seen, large roads are now laid out, cultivation has converted the woods into fertile fields; taverns have been erected, and much of what we Americans call comfort is to be met with? So fast does improvement proceed in our abundant and free country."

I have given a paraphrase of this "Episode" as a further illustration of Audubon's tales of adventure. There is doubtless a certain amount of invention, and it reads like the setting of a dime novel incident, but we see no reason to doubt the substantial truth of either the local coloring or the fact. In answer to the question of a recent commentator,[261] "Did remote prairie cabins have grindstones and carving knives?" we would reply that the knife and the ax have followed man to the frontier posts of civilization everywhere, and without the grindstone the ax is useless. As a concrete instance in point, compare this minute entered in the Proprietors' Book of Records of Perrytown, afterwards Sutton, New Hampshire,[262] for the third day of September, 1770: "Voted a grindstone of about 8 shillings to be sent up to Perrystown, for the use of the settlers there"; the first settler had entered that wilderness but three years before, and at the time this vote was taken the number was five.

CHAPTER XIX
AUDUBON AND RAFINESQUE

The "Eccentric Naturalist" at Henderson—Bats and new species—The demolished violin—"M. de T.": Constantine Samuel Rafinesque (Schmaltz)—His precocity, linguistic acquirements and peripatetic habits—First visit to America and botanical studies—Residence in Sicily, and fortune made in the drug trade—Association with Swainson—Marriage and embitterment—His second journey to America ends in shipwreck—Befriended—Descends the Ohio in a flatboat—Visit with Audubon, who gives him many strange "new species"—Cost to zoology—His unique work on Ohio fishes—Professorship in Transylvania University—Quarrel with its president and trustees—Return to Philadelphia—His ardent love of nature; his writings and fatal versatility—His singular will—His sad end and the ruthless disposition of his estate.

Audubon's humorous sketch of "The Eccentric Naturalist" has often been quoted, and it presents a picture which is amusing, however short of the truth it may fall or however it may fail in doing justice to its subject. Though his real hero is not named, no doubt as to his identity has ever been entertained. This episode occurred at Henderson in the late summer of 1818, and was published thirteen years after in the Biography of birds.[263] Since the story was not fully told then and the after-effects were productive of much harsh criticism, it cannot be overlooked if we would do justice to both the writer and his subject.

When walking one day by the river, to follow Audubon's story, he saw a man landing from a boat with what appeared like a bundle of dried clover on his back; he concluded from his appearance that the stranger must be "an original," a term which had been applied also to himself. A meeting followed, and the stranger, who had inquired for Mr. Audubon's house, explained that he was a naturalist, and had come to see Audubon's drawings of birds and plants; he bore also a letter from a friend, introducing "an odd fish" which might "prove to be undescribed." The visitor was made welcome in Audubon's Henderson home, where, to quote the naturalist,

at table his agreeable conversation made us all forget his singular appearance.... A long loose coat of yellow nankeen, much the worse of the many rubs it had got in its time, and stained all over with the juice of plants, hung loosely about him like a sac. A waistcoat of the same, with enormous pockets, and buttoned up to the chin, reached below over a pair of tight pantaloons, the lower parts of which were buttoned down to the ankles. His beard was as long as I have known mine to be during some of my peregrinations, and his lank black hair hung loosely over his shoulders. His forehead was so broad and prominent that any tyro in phrenology would instantly have pronounced it to be the residence of a mind of strong powers. His words impressed an assurance of rigid truth, and as he directed the conversation to the study of the natural sciences, I listened to him with as much delight as Telemachus could have listened to Mentor.