It is a war of extermination.”
“Father,” says Johnny.
“Have you seen Eggers?” asks Bayfield. “They generally try to stay out of our way.”
“Oh yes, only today, just outside the harbour.”
“They are a rough bunch, it is true. But, surely the birds abound in so many millions as to be beyond harm.”
“I wonder that we all believe so. There are instances where the depredations of man have created scarcity in animals. In fact, where a species disappears altogether.”
“I know of none such,” says Bayfield, as the sailor brings pudding. “What sort is it?” he asks the sailor in the same breath. It is an acceptable vice, a love of sweets.
“Bread, sir,” the sailor apologizes.
“I had them ask for berries on shore today,” says Kelly. “But as I suspected, it is too early in the season.”
“Later on, the native women will come selling cloudberries, as they did last year,” says Bayfield with hope.
“If the smallpox or starvation hasn’t taken them,” murmurs Kelly.
“You say a species may disappear altogether? Of what example are you thinking, Mr. Audubon?”
“The Dodo is one. Disparu .”
“It is a French word,” sniffs Bowen. “We don’t have it in English.”
“The key to it is flight. The birds could not fly, you see, and man simply killed them until there were no more.”
“We do not see the Dodo today. But we cannot prove that the Dodo has disparu ,” says Bowen.
“In English we do have a word. Extinct.” Kelly bestows his smile on the table.
“Surely God would not permit such a thing,” says Bowen.
“I doubt that God has much to do with it,” says Audubon. “It is man’s doing.”
Bayfield rises and lifts his Bible off the nearest shelf. “I keep this to hand,” he explains. “God has entered our conversation twice tonight. Shall we look at his own words? Genesis 1, verses 27 and 28.”
And there they sit, five men, full of dinner, under the light of anoil lamp, in the farthest reach of the charted territory of the New World. The wind is up and the ship’s timbers creak and sometimes there is the snap of a bit of canvas; the coffee tilts in their cups. The captain reads from his favourite book and the others listen obediently. His voice deepens, betraying the pleasure he takes in the words.
“So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them. And God blessed them, and God said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it: and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth.”
Audubon has listened with drooping eyes. He has never liked long meals.
“‘Have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth,’” Bayfield repeats. “That would seem clear.”
There is no response.
“Have dominion over,” repeats Bayfield.
“Replenish the earth,” rebuts the painter.
“And subdue it. Subdue ,” insists Bowen. “Perfectly clear.”
Audubon is suddenly weary of the English. They are too sharp. They smile but do not mean it. “All that is clear is that the Bible was not written by a bird or a fish!”
“I find that a sacrilegious remark,” huffs Bowen.
“Ah no, but to the contrary! It is an expression of one of your facts.”
Johnny knees his father under the table.
“Perhaps I do not say it well,” says Audubon. “I mean to say, it shows that the Bible was written by men.”
“The word of our Lord is that the creatures of the earth are for us to make use of.”
“It does not say that after we are finished there ought to be nothing left moving!”
This is a strenuous remark and for a moment the men sit stunned. Then Bowen speaks.
“Surely you exaggerate. The birds and the fish exist in such profusion!”
Now there is a longer silence. Audubon reaches, as if for reassurance, for the eggs, which still
“Father,” says Johnny.
“Have you seen Eggers?” asks Bayfield. “They generally try to stay out of our way.”
“Oh yes, only today, just outside the harbour.”
“They are a rough bunch, it is true. But, surely the birds abound in so many millions as to be beyond harm.”
“I wonder that we all believe so. There are instances where the depredations of man have created scarcity in animals. In fact, where a species disappears altogether.”
“I know of none such,” says Bayfield, as the sailor brings pudding. “What sort is it?” he asks the sailor in the same breath. It is an acceptable vice, a love of sweets.
“Bread, sir,” the sailor apologizes.
“I had them ask for berries on shore today,” says Kelly. “But as I suspected, it is too early in the season.”
“Later on, the native women will come selling cloudberries, as they did last year,” says Bayfield with hope.
“If the smallpox or starvation hasn’t taken them,” murmurs Kelly.
“You say a species may disappear altogether? Of what example are you thinking, Mr. Audubon?”
“The Dodo is one. Disparu .”
“It is a French word,” sniffs Bowen. “We don’t have it in English.”
“The key to it is flight. The birds could not fly, you see, and man simply killed them until there were no more.”
“We do not see the Dodo today. But we cannot prove that the Dodo has disparu ,” says Bowen.
“In English we do have a word. Extinct.” Kelly bestows his smile on the table.
“Surely God would not permit such a thing,” says Bowen.
“I doubt that God has much to do with it,” says Audubon. “It is man’s doing.”
Bayfield rises and lifts his Bible off the nearest shelf. “I keep this to hand,” he explains. “God has entered our conversation twice tonight. Shall we look at his own words? Genesis 1, verses 27 and 28.”
And there they sit, five men, full of dinner, under the light of anoil lamp, in the farthest reach of the charted territory of the New World. The wind is up and the ship’s timbers creak and sometimes there is the snap of a bit of canvas; the coffee tilts in their cups. The captain reads from his favourite book and the others listen obediently. His voice deepens, betraying the pleasure he takes in the words.
“So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them. And God blessed them, and God said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it: and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth.”
Audubon has listened with drooping eyes. He has never liked long meals.
“‘Have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth,’” Bayfield repeats. “That would seem clear.”
There is no response.
“Have dominion over,” repeats Bayfield.
“Replenish the earth,” rebuts the painter.
“And subdue it. Subdue ,” insists Bowen. “Perfectly clear.”
Audubon is suddenly weary of the English. They are too sharp. They smile but do not mean it. “All that is clear is that the Bible was not written by a bird or a fish!”
“I find that a sacrilegious remark,” huffs Bowen.
“Ah no, but to the contrary! It is an expression of one of your facts.”
Johnny knees his father under the table.
“Perhaps I do not say it well,” says Audubon. “I mean to say, it shows that the Bible was written by men.”
“The word of our Lord is that the creatures of the earth are for us to make use of.”
“It does not say that after we are finished there ought to be nothing left moving!”
This is a strenuous remark and for a moment the men sit stunned. Then Bowen speaks.
“Surely you exaggerate. The birds and the fish exist in such profusion!”
Now there is a longer silence. Audubon reaches, as if for reassurance, for the eggs, which still
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