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,