One of Audubon's early friends at Edinburgh was Captain Basil Hall,[334] traveler and writer, who was then about to start on a journey through the United States; he told the naturalist that he was a midshipman on board the Leander "when Pierce was killed off New York," at the time of Audubon's return with Rozier to America in 1806, when Captain Sammis, upon seeing the British frigate, "wore around Long Island Sound, and reached New York by Hell Gate." It was at Captain Hall's home that Audubon met Francis Jeffrey. The indomitable critic and reviewer was described as "a small (not to say tiny) man," who entered the room "with a woman under one arm, and a hat under the other." "His looks were shrewd," said the naturalist, his eyes "almost cunning" and though he talked much, he appeared unsympathetic. Their meeting was productive of no friendly feelings on either side.
Three months after reaching Edinburgh, the long awaited opportunity of meeting the greatest literary figure of the day came to Audubon unexpectedly, for he did not wish to be introduced in a crowd. Under date of January 22, 1827, he wrote that Captain Hall came to his rooms and said: "Put on your coat, and come with me to Sir Walter Scott: he wishes to see you now." "In a moment," said Audubon, "I was ready.... My heart trembled; I longed for the meeting, yet wished it over." When they were ushered into Sir Walter's study, the great Scot came forward, and warmly pressing the hand of his visitor, said he was glad to have the honor of meeting him. Audubon's record of the meeting continues:
His long, loose, silvery locks struck me; he looked like Franklin at his best. He also reminded me of Benjamin West; he had the great benevolence of William Roscoe about him, and a kindness most prepossessing. I could not forbear looking at him; my eyes feasted on his countenance. I watched his movements as I would those of a celestial being; his long, heavy, white eyebrows struck me forcibly. His little room was tidy, though it partook a good deal of the character of a laboratory. He was wrapped in a quilted morning-gown of light purple silk; he had been at work writing on the "Life of Napoleon." He writes close lines, rather curved as they go from left to right, and puts an immense deal on very little paper.... I talked little, but, believe me, I listened and observed.
Two days later Audubon paid Scott a second visit, this time with his portfolio, but little was recorded of this interview other than that it was more agreeable than the first, and that he greatly admired the accomplished Miss Scott, to whom he later sent as a gift the first number of his plates. Audubon's drawings were exhibited at a meeting of the Royal Society over which Sir Walter presided, and Scott was also in attendance at the Royal Institution when Audubon's large painting of the Black Cocks was shown. "We talked much" on this occasion, said the naturalist, "and I would have gladly joined him in a glass of wine, but my foolish habits prevented me." This restriction on wine was soon removed, as was that on whisky, whether of the Scotch or Kentucky brand, and during his later life in America Audubon was never a teetotaler by any means. While at the Exhibition Sir Walter pointed to Landseer's picture of the dying stag, saying, "many such scenes, Mr. Audubon, have I witnessed in my younger days." Audubon was doubtless too polite to express an opinion of that popular artist, though of that very picture he had written in his journal three days before that there was no nature in it, and that he considered it a farce; "the stag," he said, "had his tongue out, and his mouth shut! The principal dog, a greyhound, held the deer by one ear, just as if a loving friend; the young hunter had laced the deer by one horn very prettily, and in the attitude of a ballet-dancer was about to cast the noose over the head of the animal."
Scott and Audubon were kindred spirits in their love of sport, of wild and untameable nature, as well as of man in his Homeric relation to it. Shortly after their first interview the great Scotsman wrote this handsome tribute in his journal:
January 22 [1827].—A visit from Basil Hall with Mr. Audubon, the ornithologist, who has followed that pursuit by many a long wandering in the American forests. He is an American by naturalization, a Frenchman by birth; but less of a Frenchman than I have ever seen—no dash, or glimmer, or shine about him, but great simplicity of manners and behaviour; slight in person, and plainly dressed; wears long hair, which time has not yet tinged; his countenance acute, handsome and interesting, but still simplicity is the predominant characteristic.
Of the later visit of which we just spoke we find this account:
January 24.—Visit from Mr. Audubon, who brings some of his birds. The drawings are of the first order—the attitudes of the birds of the most animated character, and the situations appropriate; one of a snake attacking a bird's nest, while the birds (the parents) peck at the reptile's eyes—they usually, in the long-run, destroy him, says the naturalist. The feathers of these gay little sylphs, most of them from the Southern States, are most brilliant, and are represented with what, were it [not] connected with so much spirit in the attitude, I would call a laborious degree of execution. This extreme correctness is of the utmost consequence to the naturalist, [but] as I think (having no knowledge of vertu), rather gives a stiffness to the drawings. This sojourner in the desert has been in the woods for months together. He preferred associating with the Indians to the company of the Back Settlers; very justly, I daresay, for a civilized man of the lower order—that is, the dregs of civilization—when thrust back on the savage state becomes worse than a savage....
The Indians, he says, are dying fast; they seem to pine and die whenever the white population approaches them. The Shawanese, who amounted, Mr. Audubon says, to some thousands within his memory, are almost extinct, and so are various other tribes. Mr. Audubon could never hear any tradition about the mammoth, though he made anxious inquiries. He gives no countenance to the idea that the red Indians were ever a more civilized people than at this day, or that a more civilized people had preceded them in North America. He refers the bricks, etc., occasionally found, and appealed to in support of this opinion, to the earlier settlers,—or, where kettles and other utensils may have been found, to the early trade between the Indians and the Spaniards.
Audubon was anxious to receive a written recommendation from the great "Wizard of the North" touching the merits of his work, the publication of which had just begun, but Sir Walter Scott sensibly demurred, on the ground that his knowledge of natural history was insufficient to qualify him to pass expert judgment. "But," he added, "I can easily and truly say, that what I have had the pleasure of seeing, touching your talents and manners, corresponds with all I have heard in your favor; and I am a sincere believer in the extent of your scientific attainments."