In the autumn of 1823 Audubon was determined to visit Philadelphia, in the hope of finding a sponsor for his "Ornithology." Although the work was then far from ready for publication, he felt that at least he might better his condition, and with this end in view he sent his drawings from Natchez to that city; a hasty visit was made also to New Orleans, for the purpose, no doubt, of obtaining credentials to possible patrons in the East. At last, on October 3, he started with Victor on the steamer _Magnet_[296] for Louisville. Low water quickly held them up after entering the mouth of the Ohio, and they were obliged to disembark at the little village of Trinity, at the mouth of Cash Creek, the scene of Audubon's misadventures with Rozier thirteen years before. The remoteness of the situation and the state of their funds, which corresponded with that of the river, left no alternative but to walk, and they undertook to reach Louisville, several hundred miles distant, afoot. Two other travelers joined them, and with Victor, then a lad of nearly fourteen, the party left the creek at noon on October 15 and struck across country through the forests and canebrakes. At Green River, which was reached on the 21st, Victor gave out from sheer exhaustion,[297] and the remainder of the journey was finished in a Jersey wagon. At length, said Audubon, "I entered Louisville with thirteen dollars in my pocket." At Shippingport, then an independent town at the Falls of the Ohio, he was obliged to settle down for the winter. A place for Victor was found in the counting-house of Nicholas A. Berthoud, while the father undertook anything that came to hand, painting portraits, landscapes, panels for river boats, and even street signs, so hard pressed was he at times to eke out a subsistence for them both. Yet Audubon was as sanguine as ever, and on November 9 he recorded the resolution "to paint one hundred views of American scenery," and added: "I shall not be surprised to find myself seated at the foot of Niagara," a prediction which was fulfilled in the following year. During the winter spent at Shippingport, Audubon lost a gentle friend in Madame Berthoud,[298] the mother of Nicholas. In his journal for January 20, 1824, we read his emotional words: I arose this morning by the transparent light which is the effect of the moon before dawn, and saw Dr. Middleton passing at full gallop towards the white house; I followed—alas! my old friend was dead!... many tears fell from my eyes, accustomed to sorrow. It was impossible for me to work; my heart, restless, moved from point to point all round the compass of my life. Ah Lucy! what have I felt to-day! ... I have spent it thinking, thinking, learning, weighing my thoughts, and quite sick of life. I wished I had been as quiet as my venerable friend, as she lay for the last time in her room. CHAPTER XXI DÉBUT AS A NATURALIST