They reached a spot, called "Live Oak Landing," where a schooner from New York was then anchored, and there passed the night.
At sunrise the next morning, I and four negro servants proceeded in search of birds and adventures. The fact is, that I was anxious to kill some 25 brown Pelicans ... to enable me to make a new drawing of an adult male bird, and to procure the dresses of the others. I proceeded along a narrow, shallow bay, where the fish were truly abundant. Would you believe it, if I were to say, that the fish nearly obstructed our head-way? Believe it, or not, so it was; the waters were filled with them, large and small. I shot some rare birds, and putting along the shore, passed a point, when lo, I came in sight of several hundred pelicans, perched on the branches of mangrove trees, seated in comfortable harmony, as near each other as the strength of the boughs would allow. I ordered to back water gently; the hands backed water. I waded to the shore under cover of the rushes along it, saw the pelecans fast asleep, examined their countenances and deportment well and leisurely, and after all, levelled, fired my piece, and dropped two of the finest specimens I ever saw. I really believe I would have shot one hundred of these reverend sirs, had not a mistake taken place in the reloading of my gun. A mistake, however, did take place, and to my utmost disappointment, I saw each pelecan, old and young, leave his perch, and take to wing, soaring off, well pleased, I dare say, at making so good an escape from so dangerous a foe.
After shooting more birds, and pushing or pulling their boat "over oyster banks sharp as razors," they made the schooner at the landing again. "The birds, generally speaking," he continues, "appeared wild and few—you must be aware that I call birds few, when I shoot less than one hundred per day."
Such remarks as we have just quoted might convey the impression that the American woodsman, with whose name the cause of bird protection is now associated in this country, was a reckless destroyer of all bird life, but this was far from the case. It must be remembered that this was over eighty years ago, when the unrivaled abundance of our birds was such that the necessity of their conservation had hardly entered the dreams of the most discerning. Audubon no doubt had gradually yielded to the prevalent mania for describing and figuring new species, and to make out all the minute specific differences a large series of specimens was necessary; still more were needed for the detection of individual variation, which did not escape him, and much less his assistant, William MacGillivray, who demanded large numbers for his anatomical studies. Furthermore, Audubon counted upon defraying a part of his expenses by collections of skins of American birds, which were then desiderata among the museums of Europe.[13]
When it was proposed that they should return,
preparations were accordingly made, and we left the schooner, with tide and wind in our teeth, and with the prospect of a severe, cold night. Our hands pulled well, and our bark was as light as our hearts. All went on merrily until dark night came on. The wind freshening, the cold augmenting, the provisions diminishing, the waters lowering, all—all depreciating except our enterprising dispositions. We found ourselves fast in the mud about 300 yards from a marshy shore, without the least hope of being able to raise a fire, for no trees except palm trees were near, and the grand diable himself could not burn one of them. Our minds were soon made up to do—what? Why, to roll ourselves in our cloaks, and lay down, the best way we could, at the bottom of our light and beautiful barque. Good God, what a night! To sleep was impossible; the cold increased with the breeze, and every moment seemed an hour, from the time we stretched ourselves down until the first glimpse of the morn; but the morn came, clear as ever morn was, and the north-easter as cold as ever wind blew in this latitude. All hands half dead, and masters as nearly exhausted as the hands—stiffened with cold, light-clothed, and but slight hope of our nearing any shore; our only resort was, to leap into the mire, waste-deep, and to push the barque to a point, some five hundred or six hundred yards, where a few scrubby trees seem to have grown to save our lives on this occasion. "Push, boys, push! Push for your lives!", cry the generous Bulow, and the poor Audubon.—"All hands push!" Aye and well might we push: the mire was up to our breasts, our limbs becoming stiffened at every step we took. Our progress was slowly performed as if we had been clogged with heavy chains. It took us two and a half hours to reach the point, where the few trees of which I have spoken were; but, thank God, we did get there.
We landed ... and well it was that we did; for on reaching the margin of the marsh, two of the negroes fell down in the marsh, as senseless as torpidity ever rendered an alligator, or a snake; and had we, the white men, not been there, they certainly would have died. We had carried them into the little grove, to which, I believe, all of us owe our lives. I struck a fire in a crack; and, in five minutes, I saw, with indescribable pleasure, the bright, warming blaze in a log pile in the center of our shivering party. We wrapped the negroes in their blankets—boiled some water, and soon had some tea—made them swallow it, and with care revived them into animation. May God preserve you from being ever in the condition of our party at this juncture; scarcely a man able to stand, and the cold wind blowing as keenly as ever. Our men, however, gradually revived—the trees, one after another, fell under the hatchet, and increased our fire—and in two hours I had the pleasure of seeing cheerful faces again.
Their predicament, however, was still serious, for, to continue the narrative, they were
confined in a large salt marsh, with rushes head high, and miry; no provisions left, and fifteen miles from the house of their host.
Not a moment was to be lost, for I foresaw that the next night would prove much colder still. The boat was manned once more, and off through the mud we moved to double the point, and enter the creek, of which I have spoken, with the hope that in it we should find water enough to float her. It did happen so, thank God! As we once more saw our barque afloat, our spirits rose,—and rose to such a pitch that we in fun set fire to the whole marsh: crack, crack, crack! went the reeds, with a rapid blaze. We saw the marsh rabbits, scampering from the fire by the thousands, as we pulled our oars.