The Audubon Reader (13 page)

It would not perhaps be proper that I should speak of the value put on the flesh of these birds by epicures. All that I shall say is that I never thought much of it, and would at any time prefer a piece of buffalo or bear flesh; so that I have no reason to regret my inability to purchase Prairie Hens for eating at five dollars the pair.

[The Pinnated Grouse (Greater Prairie Chicken),
Tympanuchus cupido
, appears in Plate 186 of
The Birds of America
.]

While residing at Henderson in Kentucky I became acquainted with a gentleman who had just returned from the country in the neighborhood of the headwaters of the Arkansas River, where he had purchased a newly caught wild horse, a descendant of some of the horses originally brought from Spain and set at liberty in the vast prairies of the Mexican lands. The animal was by no means handsome: he had a large head with a considerable prominence in its frontal region, his thick and unkempt mane hung along his neck to the breast and his tail, too scanty to be called flowing, almost reached the ground. But his chest was broad, his legs clean and sinewy and his eyes and nostrils indicated spirit, vigor and endurance. He had never been shod, and although he had been ridden hard and had performed a long journey, his black hoofs had suffered no damage. His color inclined to bay, the legs of a deeper tint and gradually darkening below until they became nearly black. I inquired what might be the value of such an animal among the
Osage Indians, and was answered that the horse being only four years old, he had given for him with the tree and the buffalo tug fastened to his head, articles equivalent to about thirty-five dollars. The gentleman added that he had never mounted a better horse and had very little doubt that if well fed, he could carry a man of ordinary weight from thirty-five to forty miles a day for a month, as he had traveled at that rate upon him without giving him any other food than the grass of the prairies or the canes of the bottom lands until he had crossed the Mississippi at Natchez, when he fed him with corn. Having no farther use for him now that he had ended his journey, he said he was anxious to sell him and thought he might prove a good hunting horse for me, as his gaits were easy and he stood fire as well as any charger he had seen. Having some need of a horse possessed of qualities similar to those represented as belonging to the one in question, I asked if I might be allowed to try him. “Try him, Sir, and welcome; nay, if you will agree to feed him and take care of him, you may keep him for a month, if you choose.” So I had the horse taken to the stable and fed.

About two hours afterwards I took my gun, mounted the prairie nag and went to the woods. I was not long in finding him very
sensible to the spur, and as I observed that he moved with great ease both to himself and his rider, I thought of leaping over a log several feet in diameter to judge how far he might prove serviceable in deer driving or bear hunting. So I gave him the reins and pressed my legs to his belly without using the spur, on which, as if aware that I wished to try his mettle, he bounded off and cleared the log as lightly as an elk. I turned him and made him leap the same log several times, which he did with equal ease, so that I was satisfied of his ability to clear any impediment in the woods. I next determined to try his strength, for which purpose I took him to a swamp which I knew was muddy and tough. He entered it with his nose close to the water as if to judge of its depth, at which I was well pleased, as he thus evinced due caution. I then rode through the swamp in different directions and found him prompt, decided and unflinching. Can he swim well? thought I—for there are horses which, although excellent, cannot swim at all but will now and then lie on their side as if contented to float with the current, when the rider must either swim and drag them to the shore or abandon them. To the Ohio then I went and rode into the water. He made off obliquely against the current, his head well raised above the surface, his nostrils expanded, his breathing free and without any of the grunting noise emitted by many horses on such occasions. I turned him down the stream, then directly against it, and finding him quite to my mind, I returned to the shore, on reaching which he stopped of his own accord, spread his legs and almost shook me off my seat. After this I put him to a gallop, and returning home through the woods, shot from the saddle a turkey cock, which he afterwards approached as if he had been trained to the sport, and enabled me to take it up without dismounting.

As soon as I reached the house of Dr. Rankin, where I then resided, I sent word to the owner of the horse that I should be glad to see him. When he came I asked him what price he would take; he said fifty dollars in silver was the lowest. So I paid the money, took a bill of sale and became master of the horse. The Doctor, who was an excellent judge, said smiling to me, “Mr. Audubon, when you are tired of him, I will refund you the fifty dollars, for depend upon it he is a capital horse.” The mane was trimmed but the tail left untouched; the Doctor had him shod “all
round,” and for several weeks he was ridden by my wife, who was highly pleased with him.

Business requiring that I should go to Philadelphia, Barro (he was so named after his former owner) was put up for ten days and well attended to. The time of my departure having arrived, I mounted him; and set off at the rate of four miles an hour—but here I must give you the line of my journey that you may, if you please, follow my course on some such map as that of Tanner’s. From Henderson through Russellville, Nashville and Knoxville, Abington in Virginia, the Natural Bridge, Harrisonburg, Winchester and Harper’s Ferry, Frederick and Lancaster to Philadelphia.

There I remained four days, after which I returned by way of Pittsburgh, Wheeling, Zanesville, Chillicothe, Lexington and Louisville to Henderson. But the nature of my business was such as to make me deviate considerably from the main roads and I computed the whole distance at nearly two thousand miles, the post roads being rather more than sixteen hundred. I traveled not less than forty miles a day and it was allowed by the Doctor that my horse was in as good condition on my return as when I set out. Such a journey on a single horse may seem somewhat marvelous in the eyes of a European; but in those days almost every merchant had to perform the like, some from all parts of the western country, even from St Louis on the Missouri, although the travelers not unfrequently on their return sold their horses at Baltimore, Philadelphia or Pittsburgh, at which latter place they took boat.

My wife rode on a single horse from Henderson to Philadelphia, traveling at the same rate. The country was then comparatively new; few coaches traveled and in fact the roads were scarcely fit for carriages. About twenty days were considered necessary for performing a journey on horseback from Louisville to Philadelphia, whereas now the same distance may be traveled in six or seven days or even sometimes less, this depending on the height of the water in the Ohio.

It may be not uninteresting to you to know the treatment which the horse received on those journeys. I rose every morning before day, cleaned my horse, pressed his back with my hand to see if it had been galled, and placed on it a small blanket folded double in such a manner that when the latter was put on, half of the cloth
was turned over it. The surcingle, beneath which the saddlebags were placed, confined the blanket to the seat, and to the pad behind was fastened the great coat or cloak tightly rolled up. The bridle had a snaffle bit; a breastplate was buckled in front to each skirt, to render the seat secure during an ascent; but my horse required no crupper [behind, to prevent the saddle from slipping forward], his shoulders being high and well-formed. On starting he trotted off at the rate of four miles an hour, which he continued. I usually traveled from fifteen to twenty miles before breakfast and after the first hour allowed my horse to drink as much as he would. When I halted for breakfast I generally stopped two hours, cleaned the horse and gave him as much corn blades as he could eat. I then rode on until within half an hour of sunset, when I watered him well, poured a bucket of cold water over his back, had his skin well rubbed, his feet examined and cleaned. The rack was filled with blades, the trough with corn; a good-sized pumpkin or some hens’ eggs, whenever they could be procured, were thrown in and if oats were to be had, half a bushel of them was given in preference to corn, which is apt to heat some horses. In the morning, the nearly empty trough and rack afforded sufficient evidence of the state of his health.

I had not ridden him many days before he became so attached to me that on coming to some limpid stream in which I had a mind to bathe, I could leave him at liberty to graze and he would not drink if told not to do so. He was ever surefooted, and in such continual good spirits that now and then when a turkey happened to rise from a dusting place before me, the mere inclination of my body forward was enough to bring him to a smart canter, which he would continue until the bird left the road for the woods, when he never failed to resume his usual trot.

On my way homewards I met at the crossings of the
Juniata River a gentleman from New Orleans whose name is
Vincent Nolte. He was mounted on a superb horse for which he had paid three hundred dollars, and a servant on horseback led another as a change. I was then an utter stranger to him and as I approached and praised his horse, he not very courteously observed that he wished I had as good a one. Finding that he was going to Bedford to spend the night, I asked him at what hour he would get there.
“Just soon enough to have some trouts ready for our supper, provided you will join when you get there.” I almost imagined that Barro understood our conversation; he pricked up his ears and lengthened his pace, on which Mr. Nolte caracoled his horse and then put him to a quick trot, but all in vain, for I reached the hotel nearly a quarter of an hour before him, ordered the trouts, saw to the putting away of my good horse and stood at the door ready to welcome my companion. From that day Vincent Nolte has been a friend to me. It was from him I received letters of introduction to the Rathbones of Liverpool, for which I shall ever be grateful to him. We rode together as far as Shippingport, where my worthy friend
Nicholas Berthoud, Esq., resided, and on parting with me he repeated what he had many times said before, that he never had seen so serviceable a creature as Barro.

If I recollect rightly, I gave a short verbal account of this journey and of the good qualities of my horse to my learned friend
J. Skinner, Esq., of Baltimore, who I believe has noticed them in his excellent
Sporting Magazine
. We agreed that the importation of horses of this kind from the Western Prairies might improve our breeds generally; and judging from those which I have seen, I am inclined to think that some of them may prove fit for the course. A few days after reaching Henderson, I parted with Barro, not without regret, for a hundred and twenty dollars.

No sooner have the overflowing waters of early spring subsided within their banks and the temperature become pleasant than the trees of our woods are seen to unfold their buds and blossoms and the white perch, which during the winter has lived in the ocean, rushes up our streams to seek the well-known haunts in which it last year deposited its spawn. With unabating vigor it ascends the turbulent current of the Mississippi, of which, however, the waters are too muddy to suit its habits; and glad no doubt is it to enter one of the numberless tributaries whose limpid waters are poured into the mighty river. Of these subsidiary waters the Ohio is one in whose pure stream the white perch seems to delight; and towards its head springs the fish advances in numerous shoals following the banks with easy progress. Over many a pebbly or gravelly bar does it seek its food. Here the crawling mussel it crunches and devours; there with the speed of an arrow it darts upon the minnow; again, at the edge of a shelving rock or by the side of a stone, it secures a crayfish. No impure food will “the growler” touch; therefore, reader, never make use of such to allure it; otherwise not only will your time be lost, but you will not enjoy the gratification of tasting this delicious fish. Should you have no experience in fishing
for perch I would recommend to you to watch the men you see on that shore, for they are excellent anglers.

Smooth are the waters, clear is the sky and gently does the stream move—perhaps its velocity does not exceed a mile in the hour. Silence reigns around you. See, each fisher has a basket or calabash containing many a live cray; and each line, as thick as a crow quill, measures scarce a furlong. At one end two perch hooks are so fastened that they cannot interfere with each other. A few inches below the reaching point of the farthest hook, the sinker, perhaps a quarter of a pound in weight, having a hole bored through its length, is passed upon the line and there secured by a stout knot at its lower extremity. The other end of the line is fastened ashore. The tackle, you observe, is carefully coiled on the sand at the fisher’s feet. Now on each hook he fixes a crayfish, piercing the shell beneath the tail and forcing the keen weapon to reach the very head of the suffering creature while all its legs are
left at liberty to move. Now each man, holding his line a yard or so from the hooks, whirls it several times overhead and sends it off to its full length directly across the stream. No sooner has it reached the gravelly bed than, gently urged by the current, it rolls over and over until it is nearly in the line of the water. Before this, however, I see that several of the men have had a bite and that by a short jerk they have hooked the fish. Hand over hand they haul in their lines. Poor perch, it is useless labor for thee to flounce and splash in that manner, for no pity will be shewn thee, and thou shalt be dashed on the sand and left there to quiver in the agonies of death. The lines are within a few yards of being in. I see the fish gasping on its side. Ah! there are two on this line, both good; on most of the others there is one; but I see some of the lines have been robbed by some cunning inhabitant of the water. What beautiful fishes these perches are! so silvery beneath, so deeply colored above! What a fine eye too! But friend, I cannot endure their gaspings. Pray put them on this short line and place them in the water beside you until you prepare to go home. In a few hours each fisher has obtained as many as he wishes. He rolls up his line, fastens five or six perches on each side of his saddle, mounts his horse and merrily wends his way.