The Fowler - A Poem from 1841

By Delta. From Blackwood for Sept.

"And in there care in heav'n and is there love

In heav'nly spirits to these creature base.

That may compassion of their evils move

There is — else much more wretched were the case

Of men than beasts. But oh! the exceeding grace

Of highest God that loves his creatures so,

And all his works with mercy doth embrace,

That blessed angels he sends to and fro.

To serve on wicked man to serve his wicked foe."

Spenser.

 

I have an old remembrance — 'tis as old

As Childhood's visions, and 'tis mingled with

Dim thoughts, and scenes grotesque, by fantasy

From out Oblivion's twilight conjured up.

Ere Truth had shorn Imagination's beams,

Or to forlorn reality tamed down

The buoyant spirit. Yes! The shapes and hues

Of winter twilight, often as the year

Revolves, and hoar-frost grimes the window-sill,

Bring back the lone waste scene that gave it birth,

And make me, for a moment, what I was

Then, on that Polar morn, a little boy,

And Earth again the realm of fairyland.

 

A Fowler was our visitant; his talk

At eve beside the flickering hearth, while howled

The outward winds, and hail-drops on the pane

Tinkled, or flown the chimney in the flame

Whizzed as they melted, was of forest and field,

Wherein lay bright wild-birds and timorous beasts

That shunned the face of man; and oh! the joy,

The passion which lit up his brow, to con

The feats of slight and cunning skill by which

Their haunts were neared, or on the heathy hills,

Or 'mid the undergrove; on snowy moor,

Or by the rushy lake — what time the dawn

Reddens the east, or from on high the moon

In the smooth waters sees her picture's orb,

The white cloud slumbering in the windless sky.

And midnight mantling all the silent hills.

 

I do remember me the very time —

Tho' thirty shadowy years have lapsed between?

'Tis graved as by the hand of yesterday,

For weeks had raved the winds; the angry seas

Howl'd to the darkness, and downfallen the snows;

The red-breast to the window came for crumbs;

Hunger had to the coleworts driven the hate;

The crow, at noontide, pecked the traveled road;

And the wood-pigeon, timorously bold,

Starved from the forest, neared the homes of man.

It was the dreariest depth of winter-tide,

And on the ocean and its isles was felt

The iron sway of the North; yes, even the fowl —

That through the polar summer months could see

A beauty in Spitzbergen's naked isles,

Or on the drifting icebergs seek a home —

Even they had fled, on southern wing, in search

Of less inclement shores.

 

Perturbed by dreams

Passed o'er the slow night-watches; many a thought

And many a hope was forward bent on morn;

But weary was the tedious chime on chime,

And hour on hour 't was dark, and still it was dark

At length we rose — for now we counted five —

And by the flickering hearth arrayed ourselves

In coats and 'kerchiefs, for the early drift

And biting season fit; the fowling-piece

Was shouldered, and the blood-stained game pouch slung

On this side, and the gleaming flask on that:

In sooth, we were a most accordant pair;

And thus accoutred, 10 the lone sea-shore

In fond and fierce precipitance we flew.

 

There was no breath abroad; each in its cave,

As if enchanted, slept the winds, and left

Earth in a voiceless trance : around the porch

All stirlessly the darksome ivy clung;

All silently the leafless trees held up

Their bare boughs to the sky; the atmosphere,

Untroubled in its cold serenity,

Wept icy dews; and now the later stars,

As by some hidden necromantic charm,

Dilate, amid the death-like calm profound,

On the white slumber-mantled earth gazed down. —

Words may not tell, how to the temperament,

And to the hue of that enchanted hour,

The spirit was subdued: a wizard scene!

In the far west, the Peatland's gloomy ridge

Belted the pale blue sky, whereon a cloud,

Fantastic, grey, and tinged with solemn light,

Lay like a dreaming monster, and the moon,

Waning, above its silvery rim upheld

Her horns — as 't were the Spectre of the Past.

Silently, silently, on we trode and trode.

As if a spell had frozen up our words :

White lay the wolds around us, ankle deep

In new-fallen snows, which champ'd beneath our tread;

And, by the marge of winding Esk, which showed

The mirrored stars upon its map of ice,

Downward in haste we journeyed to the shore

Of Ocean, whose drear, multitudinous voice

Unto the listening spirit of silence sang.

 

Oh, leaf! from out the volume of far years

Dissevered, oft, how oft have the young buds

Of Spring unfolded, have the Summer skies

In their deep blue o'ercanopied the earth,

And Autumn, in September's ripening breeze,

Rustled her harvests, since the theme was one

Present, and darkly all that Future lay,

Which now is of the perished and the past,

Since then a generation's span hath fled,

With all its varied whirls of chance and change —

With all it's casualties of birth and death;

And, looking round, sadly I feel this world

Another, though the same; — another in

The eyes that gleam, the hearts that throb, the hopes,

The fears, the friendships of the soul; the same

In outward aspect — in the hills which cleave —

As landmarks of historical renown —

With azure peaks the sky; in the green plain,

That spreads its annual wild-flowers to the sun;

And in the river, whose blue course is marked

By many a well known bend and shadowy tree : —

Yet o'er the oblivious gulf, whose mazy gloom

Ensepulchres so many things, I see

As 't were of yesterday — yet robed in tints

Which yesterday has lost, or never had —

The desolate features of that Polar morn —

Its twilight shadows, and its twinkling stars —

The snows far spreading — the expanse of sand,

Ribbed by the roaring and receded sea.

And, shedding over all a wizard light,

The waning moon above the dim-seen hills.

 

At length, upon the solitary shore

We walked of ocean, which, with sullen voice,

Hollow and never-ceasing, to the north

Sang its primeval song. A weary waste!

We passed through pools, where mussel, clam and wilk

Clove to their gravelly beds; o'er slimy rocks,

Ridgy and dark, with dank fresh fuel green,

Where the prawn wriggled, and the tiny crab

Slid sideway from our path, until we gained

The land's extremest point, a sandy jut,

Narrow, and by the weltering waves begirt

Around; and there we laid us down and watched,

While from the west the pale moon disappeared,

Pronely, the sea-fowl and the coming dawn.

 

Now Day with Darkness for the mastery strove;

The stars had waned away — all, save the last

And fairest, Lucifer, whose sliver lamp,

In solitary beauty, twinkling, shone

'Mid the far west, where, through the clouds of rack

Floating around, peeped out at intervals

A patch of sky; — straightway the reign of Night

Was finished, and, as if instinctively,

The ocean flocks, or slumbering on the wave

Or on the isles, seemed the approach of dawn

To feel; and, rising from afar, were heard

Shrill shrieks and pipings desolate — a pause

Ensued, and then the same lone sounds returned,

And suddenly the whirring rush of wings

Went circling round us o'er the level sands,

Then died away : and, as we looked aloft

Between us and the sky, we saw a speck

Of black upon the blue — some huge, wild bird,

Osprey or eagle, high amid the clouds

Sailing majestic, on its plumes to catch

The earliest crimson of the approaching day.

 

'Twere sad to tell our murderous deeds that morn,

Silent upon the chilly beach we lay

Prone, while the drifting snow-flakes o'er us fell.

Like Nature's frozen tears, for our misdeeds

Of wanton cruelty. The eider ducks,

With their wild eyes, and necks of changeful blue,

We watched, now diving down, now on the surge

Flapping their pinions, of our ambuscade

Unconscious — till a sudden death was found :

While floating o'er us, in the graceful curves

Of silent beauty down the sea-mew fell :

The gilinot upon the shell-bank lay

Bleeding, and oft, in wonderment, its mate

Flew round, with mournful cry, to bid it rise;

Then shrieking, fled afar : the sandpipers,

A tiny flock, innumerable, as round

And round they, flew, bewailed their broken ranks :

And the scared heron sought his inland marsh.

With blood-bedabbled plume around us rose

A slaughtered hecatomb; and to my heart

(My heart then open to all-sympathies)

It spoke of tyrannous cruelty — of man

The desolator; and of some far day,

When the accountable shall make account,

And but the merciful shall mercy find.

 

Soul-sickened, satiate, and dissatisfied,

An altered being, homeward, I returned,

My thoughts revolting at the thirst for blood

So brutalizing, so destructive of

The finer sensibilities, which man

In boyhood owns, and which the world destroys. —

Nature had preached a sermon to my heart :

And from that moment, on that snowy morn,

I loathed the purpose and the power to kill.

October 4, 1841. New York Tribune 1(151): 4. Based upon terminology and other linguistic clues, this prose may have been originated on the east side of the North Atlantic Ocean. There may be transcription errors due to a lack of legibility associated with the online presentation of the source document.

Expedition Denotes Birds of Coastal North America ca. A.D. 1500

In May 1497, as Joan Caboto Veneciano of Italy, set sail under the moniker of John Cabot for an unknown world beyond the western horizon, there wasn't any map to guide what might be found, nor anything to indicate some particular destination.

Painting of John Cabot.

Despite having an unknown route, the expedition set forth from a lively European port. English King Henry VII supplied the monies for eatable grub and wages for a hearty crew of sailors that could continually work the ship's sails needed for ongoing forward movement, for costs to outfit transport to traverse an uncharted ocean for unknown and ongoing months, and other miscellany essential for an oceanic voyage of A.D. 1500.

News had spread across Europe of vivid accounts from the journey by the celebrated Christopher Columbus - traveling overseas in 1492 - and secondary explorations by familial relations at new worlds of the middle Atlantic. Accounts conveyed a profound, dominating interest in a vast unknown territory across the Atlantic Ocean. What riches might be found - or plundered - for an unknown economic advantage? Perhaps a northwest route across the oceanic waters might be a passage to the riches of Asia. Might some route provide new commerce and great profits - in the various denominations or currencies of the era - for sea-based trade?

When the crew of the accomplished ship Matthew set anchor in shallow coastal waters, weeks after setting sail westward across the great ocean, Cabot was a first known European to reach the mainland northern America.

It was a latter-June day when explorer Cabot claimed territory under the auspices of King Henry VII, whilst at some beach-front along the northeast Atlantic coast. This place had not been visited previously by someone from Europe so apparently it was a place new visitors would claim without regard for residents that already lived there. The local people didn't know that a new identity was being imposed upon places that were a essential for their their continued existence, with local affairs of state or warfare or other domineering activities used as a means of control, instead of any basis from someone that walked on a beach and made a dramatic proclamation for the benefit of themselves and others eastward in some foreign country. Matters were based on local action and influences, not on grandiose words of spoken importance.

Replica of the Matthew. Both images courtesy of Wikipedia.

The site of land-fall was apparently in the vicinity of Vinland, and supposedly at the Island of St. John, according to historic accounts.

The local people dressed in skins of unidentified animals. There were many great white bears.

"There are also in this country dark-coloured falcons like crows, eagles, partridges, sandpipers, and many other birds of different kinds," according to published accounts of the hearty voyage across the great and perilous northern seas.

The ship continued its travels northward trying to find unhindered - that would be ice-free waters - upon which to continue sailing, but the boat was thwarted by ice-laden waters that stopped their progress. As they could not continue, the route was revised and sails were hoisted to sally forth for their home port in Europe.

Cabot returned to England, and was recognized as a here, and named an Admiral in the Royal Navy. A second voyage with five ships - based on the first instance of success - was quickly undertaken to supposedly find Japan. There are no chronicles which have been found to denote this important effort in the history of the times.

With reports of Cabot's success, explorer Gaspar Corte Real, the third son of the governor of the island of Terceira in the Azores, left Lisbon after being sent by King Manuel I to explore the northwest Atlantic in 1500. The voyage successfully returned after discovery of the Norse land.

On a subsequent voyage in the spring of 1501, Gaspar's brother Miguel was an essential person of the voyage. The three ships reached north Atlantic waters choked by "enormous masses of congealed snow floating" on the water and were soon stopped at the frozen sea.

After a few more seasonal months sailing along the north coast of Vinland, in late summer or early autumn, they reached a "very great country, which they approached with the greatest joy." This was the east coast of the land green with tall forests. There were "delicious fruits" and great trees to provide masts for ships. The men lived by hunting animals and fishing, according to historic accounts. Stags with long hair provided food, skins for clothing, houses and boats, according to the written narratives. There were wolves and sables.

"They affirm that the peregrine falcons are so numerous that it appears to me to be a miracle, like those in our country." This was the sole mention of birds present at the western lands across the great ocean.

Fifty locals were captured and then taken as prisoners back to Portugal, when two of the ships of the expedition returned to Lisbon in mid-October.

The single ship with Gaspar Corte Real sailed south to explore further, and was lost as it was not heard from again.

A letter written to Hercules d'Este, Duke of Ferrara gave the Portuguese prince details of the visit to the new found land. Miguel Corte Real made a voyage in 1502 to find his lost brother, but did not return either.

Scarce Bird Notes are an Enduring Legacy

This voyage of great interest because of it being among the first to navigate amongst the Atlantic coast of northern America, does however provide but a few bird notes.

Eagles which were black-colored could have been the Bald Eagle, though there is no way to suitably interpret the text to this degree. Dark-coloured falcons could have been either the Gyrfalcon or Peregrine Falcon. Hawks, black like ravens could have been several potential species. The partridges? These were probably some species of ptarmigan. There would have been several types of sandpipers along the coast where the brave sailors endeavoured to visit. And unidentified birds has a huge possibility for the actual species.

Narrative reports for these expeditions are important for their mentions of birds so early in the record of historic ornithology for the continent, not for the details of species. Though there are few records, the lore of the era is conveyed by the efforts of the men braving the elements on their small ships to explore and find new land at the western extent of the Atlantic Ocean. Men died for the explorations.

The only particular species identified was the Peregrine Falcon, from the latter voyage.