We must now return to the meeting of our two pioneers, which has been the bone of so much acrimonious contention. On his long journey to the Middle West and South, Wilson reached Louisville on a Saturday evening, the seventh of March, 1810, and put up at the tavern of the "Indian Queen," where, as it happened, Audubon was then living with his family; after spending five days in and about the town, he again set out on foot for Frankfort, on the morning of Friday, the twenty-third. Audubon has given the following account in the "Episode" of "Louisville in Kentucky":[190]
One fair morning, I was surprised by the sudden entrance into our counting-room [at Louisville] of Mr. Alexander Wilson, the celebrated author of the "American Ornithology," of whose existence I had never until that moment been apprised. This happened in March, 1810. How well do I remember him, as he then walked up to me! His long, rather hooked nose, the keenness of his eyes, and his prominent cheek-bones, stamped his countenance with a peculiar character. His dress, too, was of a kind not usually seen in that part of the country; a short coat, trousers, and a waistcoat of grey cloth. His stature was not above the middle size. He had two volumes under his arm, and as he approached the table at which I was working, I thought I discovered something like astonishment in his countenance. He, however, immediately proceeded to disclose the object of his visit, which was to procure subscriptions for his work. He opened his books, explained the nature of his occupations, and requested my patronage.
I felt surprised and gratified at the sight of the volumes, turned over a few of the plates, and had already taken a pen to write my name in his favour when my partner rather abruptly said to me in French, "My dear Audubon, what induces you to subscribe to this work? Your drawings are certainly far better, and again you must know as much of the habits of American birds as this gentleman." Whether Mr. Wilson understood French or not, or if the suddenness with which I paused, disappointed him, I cannot tell; but I clearly perceived that he was not pleased. Vanity and the encomiums of my friend prevented me from subscribing. Mr. Wilson asked me if I had many drawings of birds. I rose, took down a large portfolio, laid it on the table, and shewed him, as I would show you, kind reader, or any other person fond of such subjects, the whole of the contents, with the same patience with which he had shewn me his own engravings.
His surprise appeared great, as he told me he never had the most distant idea that any other individual than himself had been engaged in forming such a collection. He asked me if it was my intention to publish, and when I answered in the negative, his surprise seemed to increase. And, truly, such was not my intention; for, until long after, when I met the Prince of Musignano in Philadelphia, I had not the least idea of presenting the fruits of my labours to the world. Mr. Wilson now examined my drawings with care, asked if I should have any objections to lending him a few during his stay, to which I replied that I had none: he then bade me good morning, not, however, until I had made an arrangement to explore the woods in the vicinity along with him, and had promised to procure for him some birds, of which I had drawings in my collection, but which he had never seen.
It happened that he lodged in the same house with us, but his retired habits, I thought, exhibited either a strong feeling of discontent, or a decided melancholy. The Scotch airs which he played sweetly on his flute made me melancholy too, and I felt for him. I presented him to my wife and friends, and seeing that he was all enthusiasm, exerted myself as much as was in my power, to procure for him the specimens which he wanted. We hunted together, and obtained birds which he had never before seen; but, reader, I did not subscribe to his work, for, even at that time, my collection was greater than his. Thinking that perhaps he might be pleased to publish the results of my researches, I offered them to him, merely on condition that what I had drawn, or might afterwards draw and send to him, should be mentioned in his work, as coming from my pencil. I at the same time offered to open a correspondence with him, which I thought might prove beneficial to us both. He made no reply to either proposal, and before many days had elapsed left Louisville, on his way to New Orleans, little knowing how much his talents were appreciated in our little town, at least by myself and my friends.
Some time elapsed, during which I never heard of him, or of his work. At length, having occasion to go to Philadelphia, I, immediately after my arrival there, inquired for him and paid him a visit. He was then drawing a White-headed Eagle. He received me with civility, and took me to the Exhibition Rooms of Rembrandt Peale, the artist, who had then portrayed Napoleon crossing the Alps. Mr. Wilson spoke not of birds or drawings. Feeling, as I was forced to do, that my company was not agreeable, I parted from him; and after that I never saw him again. But judge of my astonishment some time after, when on reading the thirty-ninth page of the ninth volume of American Ornithology, I found in it the following paragraph:—
"March 23, 1810.—I bade adieu to Louisville, to which place I had four letters of recommendation, and was taught to expect much of everything there; but neither received one act of civility from those to whom I was recommended, one subscriber, nor one new bird; though I delivered my letters, ransacked the woods repeatedly, and visited all the characters likely to subscribe. Science or literature has not one friend in this place."
What actually happened at this meeting of the two naturalists will never be certainly known, beyond what can be gathered from their rather widely divergent accounts. It should be noticed, however, that the paragraph which Audubon quoted was extracted from Wilson's private diary; it was no doubt written on the spur of the moment, possibly to humor his own mood, and certainly with no thought of its later publication. It was inserted by George Ord in the biographical sketch of his friend appended to the ninth volume of the American Ornithology, which appeared in 1814, the year after Wilson's death. Audubon was not concerned, either directly or by implication, except in the last sentence, for it is evident that he was not one of those to whom Wilson had carried letters of introduction. Thus the matter stood until 1828, when Audubon's Birds of America were being engraved in England. In all probability the incident would never have been noticed by Audubon, had not Ord seen fit to revive it when his life of Wilson[191] was issued as a separate volume in that year. In this edition of the biography Ord inserted fuller extracts from Wilson's journal, with the evident purpose of placing the rival of his friend in an unenviable light.
Wilson's diary, which apparently was never seen by any of Audubon's friends, is now known to us only through such extracts as Ord and Waterton, his bitter enemies, have seen fit to make public; the original has probably been destroyed, for it cannot be traced later than 1840, when it was still in the hands of George Ord.[192] Charles Waterton gave similar extracts from this famous journal in one of his philippics against Audubon in 1834, when he said that it was the testimony of this record that defeated Audubon's friends in their initial attempt to bring him into the Academy of Natural Sciences at Philadelphia. Wilson's narrative of his adventures at Louisville in 1810, as given by Ord and Waterton, is as follows:[193]
March 17. Take my baggage and grope my way to Louisville—put up at the Indian Queen tavern, and gladly sit down to rest myself.