John James Audubon | Page 7

Rozier entered a French house in Philadelphia.
But Audubon was not cut out for business; his first venture was in indigo, and cost him several hundred pounds. Rozier succeeded no better; his first speculation was a cargo of hams shipped to the West Indies which did not return one fifth of the cost. Audubon's want of business habits is shown by the statement that at this time he one day posted a letter containing eight thousand dollars without sealing it. His heart was in the fields and woods with the birds. His room was filled with drying bird skins, the odour from which, it is said, became so strong that his neighbours sent a constable to him with a message to abate the nuisance.
Despairing of becoming successful business men in either New York or Philadelphia, he and Rozier soon returned to Mill Grove. During some of their commercial enterprises they had visited Kentucky and thought so well of the outlook there that now their thoughts turned thitherward.
Here we get the first date from Audubon; on April 8, 1808, he and Lucy Bakewell were married. The plantation of Mill Grove had been previously sold, and the money invested in goods with which to open a store in Louisville, Kentucky. The day after the marriage, Audubon and his wife and Mr. Rozier started on their journey. In crossing the mountains to Pittsburg the coach in which they were travelling upset, and Mrs. Audubon was severely bruised. From Pittsburg they floated down the Ohio in a flatboat in company with several other young emigrant families. The voyage occupied twelve days and was no doubt made good use of by Audubon in observing the wild nature along shore.
In Louisville, he and Rozier opened a large store which promised well. But Audubon's heart was more and more with the birds, and his business more and more neglected. Rozier attended to the counter, and, Audubon says, grew rich, but he himself spent most of the time in the woods or hunting with the planters settled about Louisville, between whom and himself a warm attachment soon sprang up. He was not growing rich, but he was happy. "I shot, I drew, I looked on Nature only," he says, "and my days were happy beyond human conception, and beyond this I really cared not."
He says that the only part of the commercial business he enjoyed was the ever engaging journeys which he made to New York and Philadelphia to purchase goods.
These journeys led him through the "beautiful, the darling forests of Ohio, Kentucky, and Pennsylvania," and on one occasion he says he lost sight of the pack horses carrying his goods and his dollars, in his preoccupation with a new warbler.
During his residence in Louisville, Alexander Wilson, his great rival in American ornithology, called upon him. This is Audubon's account of the meeting: "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 his volumes, turned over a few of the plates, and had already taken my 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 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 showed him as I would show you, kind reader, or any other person fond of such