oy

D

Gornell University Library
Sthaca, New York

  
  

 

 

BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE

FISKE ENDOWMENT FUND

THE BEQUEST OF

WILLARD FISKE

LIBRARIAN OF THE UNIVERSITY 1968-1883
1905
Cornell University Libra

“TaN
Highways and Byways of Florida
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

NEW YORK - BOSTON - CHICAGO - DALLAS
ATLANTA - SAN FRANCISCO

MACMILLAN & CO., Lnarep

LONDON - BOMBAY + CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Lr.
TORONTO
 

On an East Coast beach
 

r

HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS
OF

FLORIDA

 

 

 

HUMAN INTEREST

“INFORMATION FOR
TRAVELLERS IN FLORIDA;
‘AND FOR THOSE OTHER
TRAVELLERS WHO ARE
KEPT AT HOME BY CHANCE
OR NECESSITY, BUT WHO
JOURNEY FAR AND WIDE
ON THE WINGS OF FANCY

 

 

WRITTEN BY
CLIFTON JOHNSON

rr.
FULLY ILLUSTRATED

 

 

 

 

 

 

Published by THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
New York Mceuvitt

LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
ss

 

 
Copyright, 1918
by the Macmillan Company.

Set up and electrotyped
Published December, 1918.

\S\72G'r

AMERICAN
HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS

FLORIDA
2

Introductory Note

This book is an attempt to include in readable form
all the human interest information concerning Florida
that the space will permit. I have sought for what is
characteristic and significant in nature and in history,
in the observations of travelers present and past, in
commercial and industrial enterprise on land and sea,
and for that which is illuminating and entertaining in
literature, legend, and humor.

It has been my custom to supply the illustrations
for my travel’books with my own camera, and I had
intended to make photographs for this Florida book
as usual. But our part in the World War interfered
with my plans. I walked out on a wharf at a Gulf port
in quest of camera material and soon found myself ar-
rested as a suspected German spy. For two days and
a night I was behind prison bars. When I was released,
the official prediction was that I would have further
disagreeable experiences of the sort if I persisted in my
purpose to make photographs, and I decided to gather
the illustrations in other ways.

Later the old saying that “Misfortunes never come
singly” was corroborated when a fire at the engravers
destroyed most of the pictures I had secured, and I had

to collect material anew.
Vv
v1 Introductory Note

I am grateful to those mentioned below for the illus-
trations which appear opposite the pages listed:

United States Forest Service, 97, 110, 143, 173, 212, 213, 220, 221.

United States Geological Survey, 100.

Florida East Coast Railway, 76, 81, 96, 132, 153, 164, 193.

Seaboard Air Line Railway, Frontispiece, 16, 17, 49, 80, 140, 141, 165.

Atlantic Coast Line Railroad, 209.

Agwi Steamship News, 48, 64, 65, 69, 99, 152, 208, 245.

Charleston Chamber of Commerce, 244.

A. D. Copeland, of Springfield, Mass., 68.

W. J. Harris, 22, 26, 32, 33; from a very serviceable and well-illustrated
copyrighted St. Augustine booklet.

A. W. Dimock, 142, from Mr. Dimock’s “Book of the Tarpon”; 172, from
his “ Florida Enchantments.”

Places and other features of Florida are often lent
an additional attraction by their names. Many of
these names have an Indian origin and are not only
appropriate in their significance but strikingly melo-
dious. Others smack of the pioneer period, or at least
of a rude unconventionalism. Some supply almost
excuse enough in themselves for inclusion in the text,
and I regret that I did not find place in my chapters
for such as the Sopchoppy River, a tributary of the
Ochlockonee, and for Hogtown, where the first blood
was shed in the Seminole War near Miccosukee.

Curron JoHNson.
Hadley, Mass.
Contents

Chapter
I. Ponce de Leon and Fernando de Soto
II. The Oldest City in the United States.
III. The Stately St. Johns and the Beautiful
Ocklawaha :
IV. The East Coast and the nie River
V. Key West and Its Sea-going Railway
VI. Tallahassee and Northwestern Florida
VII. Central Florida with its Lakes and Springs
VIII. The West Coast . ; .
IX. The Seminoles
X. The Everglades
XI. Some Naturalist Visitors :
XII. The Weather and Other Characteristics .
XIII. Pines, Palmettos, and Other Trees
XIV. Birds and Beasts
XV. Two Charming Cities

Index

vii

Page

I
20

50

72

89
103
121
135
148
161
176
196
212
227
242
261
Illustrations

On an East Coast Beach : ‘ : Frontispiece
nee Page

Atlantic Surf on the Florida Coast .

A Florida Jungle.

The Cathedral Completed j in 1797
Ancient Spanish Gateway :

The Arch in Old Fort Marion .

Ruin of a Spanish Fort at Matanzas Inlet
One of the Narrow Streets

A St. Augustine Monument

February on the Beach, Anastasia Island:
Pablo Beach Palmettos and Sand Dunes

A Quiet Nook on the Borders of the St. se River

Getting the Trotter Ready
Voyaging on the Ocklawaha
A Cracker’s Home
Beside the Halifax River at New Smyrna .
An Off-look on the Indian River
Spanish Bayonets
At Palm Beach on the Shore of Lake Worth
One of the Viaducts of the Seagoing Railway
A Remarkable Wild Fig Tree at Key West
Navigating a Sponge Boat
A Street in Key West : :
On Loggerhead Key, Dry Tortugas .
Young Mangroves Growing in a Shoal

x

16
17
22
23
26
27
32
33
48
x Illustrations

Docks at Pensacola
Washing in the Yard

Woodland in Northwestern Pioaden near Rocky Bayou

A Drink from the Suwannee

Lake Parker near Lakeland

Picking Oranges

A Phosphate Mine .

Ready to Start for Market

A Kissimmee Valley Prairie

A Rustic Well

The Greek Sponge Fleet at Maenon eine
A Bellair Bridge

An Exciting Moment in Guteling a Taper
A Schoolhouse in Lee County .

An Everglades Indian in his Dugout

The Tomoka River near Ormond

On the Shore of Lake Okechobee

The Cotee River near Sarasota

Canoeing in the Big Cypress ;

A Trapper’s Home in the Everglades

Deep Creek, a Tributary of the St. Johns .
A Florida Waterside :

An Ox-cart in Southern Plouda

A St. Petersburg Roadway ‘
Log-drawing in a Long-leaf Pine Forest
Cutting a Gutter for Turpentine

A Turpentine Orchard

In the National Forest—a Fire Lookout
Voyaging in the Everglades

Cocoanut Palms on Key Biscayne

pore Page

108
109
1IO
III
128
129
130
131
132
133
140
I4I
142
143
152
153
164
165
172
173
192
193
208
209
212
213
220
221
232
233
Illustrations xi

Facing Bell

St. Michael’s Church, Charleston. ; 244
Fort Sumter in Charleston Harbor . ‘ : . 245
In a Charleston Alley. . ; ‘ ‘ . 248
A Home Entrance . : : : ‘ : . 249
A River Scene at Bonaventure : : . 252

The Atlantic Beach on Tybee Island Q ; ee
Highways and Byways of Florida
Highways and Byways of
Florida

I

PONCE DE LEON AND FERNANDO DE SOTO

As the sturdy New World explorers of the

sixteenth century was Ponce de Leon, who,

as a companion of Columbus on his second
voyage to the Western Hemisphere, proved himself to
be a brave and gallant officer. Most of his time for
many years afterward was spent in the New World,
exploring, seeking gold, governing provinces, and
parleying with the Indians, or fighting them. By the
time he was fifty he had amassed wealth enough to
make him independent, and he returned to Spain.

At length this bold mariner felt the infirmities of age
and the shadows of the decline of life hanging over him,
and he willingly credited the tale that in the mysterious
land beyond the sea there existed a spring whose
waters could efface the marks of time and confer im-
mortal youth on whoever bathed init. The spring was
said to be in a region which abounded in gold and all
manner of desirable things. A considerable number of
Cuban Indians had gone north from their island in

I
2 Highways and Byways of Florida

search of this delectable country and its magic spring.
They had never returned. No doubt they had suc-
ceeded in their quest, and had preferred to remain in
their rejuvenated state to enjoy the felicities of that
land.

So the gallant cavalier, Ponce de Leon, sailed from
Spain to Porto Rico, where he fitted out three vessels
and embarked in them to seek the fountain of youth.
March 27, 1513, he came within sight of Florida, and
after hovering along the coast for a fortnight he went
on shore a little south of the mouth of the St. Johns
River. There a cross was planted, the royal banner
was thrown to the breeze, and he took possession of the
country for the Spanish crown. He called it Terra de
Pascua Florida, Land of Easter Flowers. The name
is supposed to refer in part to the time of his discovery,
and in part to the abounding spring flowers that he
saw and scented.

For a month and a half after landing, Ponce de Leon
engaged in an earnest search for the magic fountain.
There are a score of springs in Florida which might
impress an ignorant or credulous observer with the
idea of supernatural virtues. But none of the springs
in which the gallant cavalier bathed served his purpose,
and he finally sailed away without having grown either
younger or handsomer. However, though he failed to
find the fountain of youth, he gave Florida its name
and perpetuated his own by his romantic quest.

In the year 1521 Ponce de Leon again voyaged to
Ponce de Leon and Fernando de Soto 8

Florida. His fancy had been stirred by the brilliant
exploits of Hernando Cortes in Mexico, and it seemed
to him not unlikely that Florida might contain vast
unknown regions of marvelous wealth in its bosom
which would yield their discoverer fame and riches.
About four hundred men accompanied him in two
ships, and he carried along a number of sheep, cattle,
and horses. He wanted to learn whether Florida was
an island, as he was inclined to believe, and he planned
to establish a settlement. It is probable that he ex-
plored the west coast northward, and that stops were
made at various places. But no sooner did he and his
men begin to build habitations than they were assailed
by the Indians with remarkable valor. Several of the
Spaniards were slain, and Ponce de Leon was wounded
in the thigh by a flint arrow. He was borne on board
his ship, and the two vessels sailed to Cuba, where he
died soon afterward. His body was carried to Porto
Rico and entombed in one of the churches of the city
of San Juan. The epitaph inscribed on his tomb was
to the purport that “In this sepulcher rest the bones
of a man who was a lion by name and still more by
nature.”

In 1539 the conquest of the Florida peninsula was
attempted by Fernando de Soto, who had taken a lead-
ing part with Pizarro in conquering Peru. He went to
Peru a needy adventurer, but his exploits had made him
famous and rich. When it was known that he was to
engage in this Florida enterprise, cavaliers, soldiers,
4 Highways and Byways of Florida

peasants, and artisans hastened to volunteer their
services. Many sold or mortgaged their estates to buy
an interest in the expedition. Some had seen with
their own eyes the shiploads of gold and silver that had
been brought from the New World, and no one seemed
to doubt that success was assured. The seven large
ships and three caravels that presently sailed away
toward the setting sun made the finest fleet that ever
left Spain to cross the Atlantic.

De Soto went first to Cuba, where he added two
more ships to his squadron, then turned northward,
and on the 25th day of June sailed into Tampa Bay
and dropped anchor. He had with him six hundred
and twenty men, gallant and well equipped, eager in
purpose, and audacious in hope. De Soto declared
that the enterprise was undertaken for God alone.
Certainly this devout marauder did not neglect the
spiritual welfare of the Indians whom he had come to
plunder; for besides fetters to bind them and blood-
hounds to hunt them, he brought priests and monks
to save their souls.

After several days spent in exploring the waterways
of the vicinity three hundred soldiers landed and raised
the Spanish flag and royal arms on the beach. At
nightfall, when supper had been eaten, the soldiers
stretched themselves on the ground around the stand-
ard of their king and slept. But just before the gray
hour of dawn there burst from the silent black forest a
tumult of cries and yells, leaping savage forms, and a
Ponce de Leon and Fernando de Soto 5

flight of arrows. The Spaniards, overwhelmed and
confused, ran in helpless terror down the beach and out
into the water, whence their trumpets sent clamorous
calls to the ships for aid. Barges quickly brought
reinforcements, and the savages were driven back into
the forest.

The Indians made no further demonstration, and a
few days later the Spaniards marched ten miles to a
deserted native village on the site of the present city
of Tampa. The village consisted of a single row of low
wooden cabins, thatched with palmetto. On a mound
at one end was the cabin of the chief, and opposite, on
another mound, was a temple bearing the wooden
efigy of a fowl. De Soto with his staff took possession
of the chief’s cabin, the officers established themselves
in the other cabins, and the soldiers tore down the
temple and combined the fragments with brush to
make rude shelters for themselves. The ground was
cleared of trees and shrubbery for the distance of a
crossbow shot on every side, sentinels were posted,
and horsemen were ordered to make regular rounds.

Scouting squads captured a few straggling natives
to serve the expedition for guides, but the captives were
of little use without interpreters. Gradually, however,
De Soto managed to understand from them that he
was in the village of their chief, Hirrihigua, and that
they had all taken refuge in the forest at the approach
of the Spaniards. The captives were sent to the chief
with friendly messages and presents, but he railed at
6 Highways and Byways of Florida

them for bringing him fair words and gifts from Chris-
tians. He told them to bring him the Spaniards’ heads
instead.

De Soto learned from his captives that the chief’s
enmity had its origin ten years back when a Spanish
expedition led by Panfilo de Narvaez landed there.
The relations of the strangers and the natives were at
first friendly, but trouble soon developed because of the
Spaniards’ arrogance and treachery. The chief was
seized, and vilely mutilated by cutting off his nose, and
his old mother was thrown to the dogs and devoured
by them before his eyes. A few years later a Spanish
ship had sailed into the bay seeking tidings of Narvaez
and his men, who had marched into the Florida forests
and had not been heard from since. Hirrihigua divined
the purpose of the voyagers, and he indicated by signs
that Narvaez had left papers there to be given to Chris-
tians who would come for them. In proof, old letters
found in the Spanish camp, were tied to sticks and held
up on the beach. The ship’s people were suspicious
and feared to trust themselves on shore. Then Hir-
rihigua sent four of his warriors to remain on the vessel
as hostages, whereupon four Spaniards paddled to land
in the Indians’ canoe. But it had barely touched
ground when the four warriors sprang from the ship
into the water, and swam away like fish. The four
white men were dragged off in triumph to the forest.
Three were tortured and killed, but the fourth was
still dwelling among the savages.
Ponce de Leon and Fernando de Soto 7

Two detachments of cavalry and crossbowmen were
at once sent by De Soto in different directions with
orders to spend a week, if necessary, searching for the
captive Spaniard. ‘The route of one of these lay through
bogs and swamps where the horses traveled with
difficulty, but where the Indians moved about freely.
A soldier said of the savages: “Warlike and nimble,
when we charge they run away; and as soon as we turn
our backs they are at us again. They never keep still,
but are always running about, so that no crossbow nor
arquebuse can be aimed at them, and before a man of
us makes one shot they make six.” This detachment
returned at the end of its time bringing one man mor-
tally wounded, and several others with minor hurts,
and nothing gained except four frightened squaw cap-
tives.

The other detachment started out briskly with an
Indian to guide it. But after a time he became uncer-
tain in his conduct and led the troop aimlessly through
the forest from one bypath to another. At length the
Spaniards discovered his treachery. ‘They arrived
where the woods were thin enough to allow a distant
view, and saw the masts of the ships in the bay. Then
they knew that they had been traveling in a circle,
and they scared the Indian into guiding them aright.
Not long afterward they turned into an open plain and
encountered face to face a small band of savages. The
troopers, all eagerness to fight, spurred forward at full
speed, with lances set, and the Indians darted into the
8 Highways and Byways of Florida

leafy coverts of the forest. Only two of the fugitives
were overtaken. One was wounded and captured.
The other turned, warded off with his bow the lance
thrust at him, made the sign of the cross in the air, and
shouted to his pursuers in Spanish. He was Juan
Ortiz, the man whom they were seeking, and they
returned to camp with him.

Juan’s three comrades had been killed shortly after
their capture at a great tribal feast in Hirrihigua’s
village. He, then a boy of eighteen, was spared at the
request of the chief’s wife and daughters—spared to
labor as a slave fetching wood and water, scantily fed,
and constantly buffeted and cudgeled. On every feast
day he furnished amusement for the people by being
chased, and pelted with blunt arrows from sunrise to
sunset. At the day’s end, when he lay panting and
exhausted on the ground, the chief’s wife and daugh-
ters would bring him food and speak soft words to him.

Once Hirrihigua attempted to burn him alive, and
would have succeeded but for the timely intervention
of the lad’s friends in the chief’s family. After that he
was set to guard the burial-place of the village. This
was a lonely open field in the depths of the forest. The
bodies were laid in wooden boxes resting flat on the
ground. Beasts of prey would come prowling among
the boxes at night, and sometimes contrived to force
one open and carry off a corpse. Hirrihigua armed
Juan with four darts and told him that if he allowed
a body to be carried off, death should be his punishment.
Ponce de Leon and Fernando de Soto 9

For a time Juan got along very well, but at last he
went to sleep one night just before dawn. The noise of a
falling box cover awoke him, and he hurried to the
burial chests. The body of a child brought there two
days before was gone. Juan listened and heard a noise
in the woods like the crunching of bones. He crept
softly in that direction till he came to a clump of
bushes. Beyond these he dimly perceived the figure
of a crouching animal. “May God help me!” he
muttered, and threw one of his darts with all his
strength.

The animal neither moved nor uttered a sound, and
when daylight came he saw that his missile had pierced
its heart, and it lay there dead. He took up the body
of the child and ran back to the burial-place, where he
restored it to its box. Then he grasped the brute by
one of its feet and dragged it to the village. The In-
dians praised him for what he had done, and Hirrihigua
gave him other employment. For a time things went
better, but the chief’s old malice returned, and at last
Hirrihigua’s eldest daughter smuggled Juan away to
the protection of a young neighboring chief who wanted
her to be his wife.

He was still with this chief when news came that a
strong Spanish force had established itself in Hirrihi-
gua’s village. Juan, with an escort of warriors, was
dispatched thither to tell the Christian commander
how kindly he had been treated by the young chief,
and to beg fn return that the chief and his people
£0 Highways and Byways of Florida

should not be harmed. It was while Juan was on this
errand that he met the Spaniards.

After reaching the camp of his countrymen and
telling his story, De Soto gave him a doublet and hose
of fine black velvet, and other clothing, but from long
habit of having no covering except a cloth around his
waist, it was several weeks before he could bear any-
thing more on his skin than the loosest linen garment.

The fleet had been unloaded, and the nine ships sent
back to Havana. Pedro Calderon was now appointed
commander of a small garrison to be left in charge of
the village and the three caravels. The rest of the
force marched away inland, startling the ancient forest
with clangor of trumpets, the neighing of horses, the
fluttering of pennons, and the glittering of helmets and
lances. Presently they entered the territory of Urre-
barricuxi, but he kept in hiding and would not be
tempted out either for peace or war.

Farther on they pushed through a swamp that they
were two days in crossing, and the scouts reported
another swamp ahead that made the crossing of the
one just passed seem like child’s play. The vast region
of this “mother swamp,” as they called it, was so miry
as to be impassable. De Soto himself went forth scout-
ing with a troop of horsemen looking for an opening,
or a footpath used by the Indians. No footpath was
found, though the Indians infested the region like
mosquitoes. Again and again they swarmed forth
with sudden fury, shot a volley of arrows, and disap-
Ponce de Leon and Fernando de Soto II

peared. However, the arrows did little harm to the
armor-protected horsemen. A few captives were taken
and forced to act as guides, but they led their captors
astray. De Soto had four of them thrown to the dogs,
several of which were taken along on every reconnois-
sance. ‘The dogs’ appetites were kept keen by starva-
tion, and they soon made an end of the four Indians. A
fifth, in dread of a like fate, offered to guide the whites
faithfully, and he led them around the swamp.

The next country to which they came was that of
the chief Acuera. As soon as some captives had been
secured, they were sent with greetings and presents to
their chief. He was invited to meet the Spaniards in
peace and friendship. But Acuera responded that
from other Spaniards in years gone by he had become
well aware what manner of folk they were. They went
wandering round like vagabonds from country to coun-
try, robbing people who had done them no harm what-
ever. With such persons he wished no kind of peace
and friendship, but never-ending war. He would fight
them as long as they remained in his land, and he
warned them that he had ordered his people to bring
him two Christian heads each week.

The chief proved to be a man of his word. During
the twenty days that the invaders lingered in his ter-
ritory he assailed them unceasingly, and his people
brought him more than twice the quota of heads he
had requested. A Spaniard could not wander a hun-
dred yards from camp, unarmed, without being spitted
12 Highways and Byways of Florida

by an arrow, and his comrades were rarely so quick to
the rescue but that they found a headless corpse await-
ing them.

The captive Indians spoke of a province called Ocali,
farther along to the northeast, where the people wore
ornaments of gold. This decided De Soto to direct his
march thither, but he found only little groups of de-
serted cabins, and storehouses well filled with corn and
pumpkins, dried plums and grapes, and nuts. He saw
no evidence of gold. Before leaving Ocali he captured
thirty Indians for slaves.

The country beyond was ruled by three brothers;
five-tenths by the eldest, three-tenths by the second,
and two-tenths by the youngest. One morning before
daylight De Soto surprised and captured the youngest
brother’s village with the chief and all his warriors in
it. However, only the young chief was retained a
prisoner. The rest were liberated. The captive was
flattered and treated with honor, and by this means
was persuaded to send messages to his brothers advis-
ing their submission to the invaders. ‘The second
brother promptly came in state escorted by his best
warriors and made peace with the Spaniards. But the
eldest brother declared that if the white men entered
his territory he would roast half of them, and boil alive
the other half. Every day two of his heralds would
approach the camp, sounding their horns, and pro-
claiming defiance with great bravado. His brothers
finally came and made a personal appeal to him. Then
Ponce de Leon and Fernando de Soto —13

he pretended to be won by their persuasion, the Span-
iards were invited to march into his domain, and he
made ready for a grand reception and for a grand
massacre afterward.

The strangers were entertained in the chief’s village,
where a great store of food was provided for them and
their horses. There were two hundred well-built cabins
in the place, and a fringe of smaller and poorer ones on
the outskirts. De Soto and his staff were lodged in the
chief’s big cabin. The chief planned to slaughter his
visitors at the end of three days of feasting, but his
purpose was betrayed to Juan Ortiz by one of the native
interpreters. “His warriors were to assemble on a near
by plain with their weapons hidden in the grass at
their feet, and the Spaniards were to be invited to see
what a fine troop they made. When the proper mo-
ment came, the chief was to give a signal, and they
were to destroy the strangers.

De Soto learned of this scheme through Juan Ortiz,
and he went to the plain with his men in battle array
prepared to attack first. He led a charge of his horse-
men on the Indian squadrons. The Spaniards tram-
pled and overthrew the savages, and slew them with
their swords right and left. It was armor against naked
skins, steel blades against bows and arrows. Many
Indians were slain, and hundreds were captured, in-
cluding the chief. His warriors were compelled to do
the camp drudgery as slaves, but he was treated more
like a guest. Even yet he fancied that a final triumph
14 Highways and Byways of Florida

was possible, and he sent secret word to his warrior
slaves that at noon on a certain day each was to be ready
to kill the master to whom he had been allotted. He
would give a war whoop as a signal for action, and he
promised it would be loud enough to be heard from one
end of the village to the other.

The appointed day came, and just after the midday
meal the chief suddenly seized De Soto by the collar
with his left hand, and dealt him such a blow in the face
with his right fist as knocked him senseless. The chief
flung him down, jumped on him with both feet, and
shouted the war whoop. It was his last call. Ten or
twelve Spanish officers were close at hand. They drew
their swords and plunged them into his body, and he
fell dead on the unconcious De Soto. The entire camp
was in commotion, for every Indian had rushed on his
master with whatever utensil or missile he could lay
hold of. Several whites were killed and many were
bruised and maimed; but after the first moment of
surprise the Spaniards caught up their weapons, and
they ceased not to use them until not one unbound
Indian was left alive. Then those who were in chains
were brought into the public square where platoons
of halberdiers slew them.

This was done by De Soto’s order. He had soon
recovered from his swoon, but for twenty days his
swollen face was kept in plasters and bandages. Mean-
while the Spaniards had resumed their march. They
advanced seventy-five miles through a perfect hornet’s
Ponce de Leon and Fernando de Soto —i§

nest of assailing Indians to the village of the next
province. Maddened by the attacks, the Spaniards
chased the Indians like wild hogs, stuck their lances
through them, and took no prisoners. Now that they
were at the village, which, as usual, was deserted, they
ambushed some natives to replace the slaves they had
lost in the last village. These were taken along with
iron collars about their necks, and to the collars were
attached chains that at the other end were fastened to
the belts of the troopers. It was a matter of complaint
that sometimes, when in the forest, getting wood, the
slaves killed their troopers and ran away with their
chains; or that at night they broke their chains with
stones and so escaped.

At last the expedition came to a swamp so vast that
the Spanish ever afterward called it simply the “‘Great
Swamp.” Only one narrow opening could be discov-
ered, and the Spaniards followed its winding course
that would admit no more than two men abreast.
Often they had to wade, and much of the way they had
to fight the natives; but they persisted till the last
stretch of jungle was passed. They were now in open
woodland. Here the Indians had blocked the path
with felled trees and with vines tied across the trail.
However, the adventurers finally reached the culti-
vated lands of Apalachee, which were famed through-
out Florida for their fertility, and a few days more
of marching brought them to the chief village of
the country. This is believed to have been in the
16 Highways and Byways of Florida

neighborhood of Tallahassee. There they spent the
winter.

A troop which was sent south to seek the sea came
out on the shore of the spacious bay of Apalachee and
retraced its way to camp to report. Then De Soto
dispatched thirty cavaliers to make the one hundred
and fifty league journey to Hirrihigua’s village and
order Calderon’s garrison to join him. They departed
several hours before daybreak on the 20th of October,
lightly equipped with helmets and coats of mail, and
each carrying a lance and a small wallet of food. They
proposed to travel rapidly and to kill every Indian they
met, so no alarm would get ahead of them that would
result in their being ambushed.

The first day they went thirty-three miles and killed
two Indians. Some days they made as much as fifty
miles. They suffered from cold, they had to cross
swollen streams, partly by swimming, partly on rude
rafts they made, and there were many narrow escapes
from the Indians. One of the men sickened and died
in his saddle, and his comrades dug a grave with their
hatchets and buried him. That night in camp another
man died with the same mysterious suddenness. The
others fell on their knees and prayed for the dead; but
no one would touch the body, for all persisted that the
man had died of the plague.

At the end of the twelth day they reached the head-
quarters of Calderon. One of the caravels was sent to
Havana, where De Soto’s wife was staying, to carry
15009 DpLLopy ayy UO fans o1juv;AFr

 

 
 

A Florida jungle
Ponce de Leon and Fernando de Soto —17

her a report of the expedition and a present of slaves.
The cavaliers sailed in the other two caravels for the
Bay of Apalachee, while the garrison made the march
by land. Late in December the caravels arrived in the
bay, and within a week Calderon’s force marched into
De Soto’s camp after daily skirmishing with the Indians
on all the hard journey. The caravels later voyaged
along the coast and discovered the harbor of Pensacola,
and soon afterward sailed to Cuba.

The Spaniards in their winter camp could scarcely
venture outside the village without danger of death or
wounds, and De Soto determined to put an end to the
warfare by getting the Apalachee chief into his power.
He learned that this chief had hidden in the center of
an extensive forest amid the canebrakes of a swamp
about twenty-five miles distant. De Soto, with a
company of men, some mounted and some on foot,
assailed this forest stronghold. There was a short
fierce battle, and then the chief surrendered. The
Spaniards gazed in wonder at him. He was too fat to
walk. He could not even stand upright on his feet. In
public he was carried. In private he crawled about on
his hands and knees.

The Spanish commander received him affably and
returned with him to camp, but, contrary to De Soto’s
expectations, the Indians became more persistent than
ever in theirambushes. The chief said this was because
his people suspected that he was being badly treated, and
he begged to be sent to them as a messenger of peace.
18 Highways and Byways of Florida

This plan was accepted, and a company of cavalry
and one of infantry were detailed to go with the chief.
They traveled all day far into the forest to a spot the
chief selected. There he began to shout and call, and
soon ten or twelve warriors stood before him to receive
his commands. He ordered them to have all the In-
dians in the forest gather there on the morrow. Dark-
ness closed in over the forest, and after sentinels had
been posted, the rest of the tired Spaniards betook
themselves to sleep, well satisfied that on the next day
they would return triumphantly to camp escorting the
whole of the chief’s tribe in docile submission. But
when daylight came they found that the chief had
disappeared. Evidently the sentinels had failed to
keep awake, and he had crawled away to his lurking
warriors, who had hoisted him on their shoulders and
borne him beyond the reach of his enemies. The Span-
iards beat the forest in vain in search of him and went
back to De Soto ashamed and discomfited.

The Indian prowlers continued to haunt the wood-
land roundabout the camp. They showed wonderful
dexterity in the use of bow and arrow, though this was
but natural considering their training. According to
the Spaniards, Indian babies of three years or less, as
soon as they could stand on their feet, were given tiny
bows and arrows, with which they hunted the beetles
and other insects crawling round their cabins. They
would watch for hours before the hole of a mouse or a
lizard, waiting to shoot the creature when it came forth.
Ponce de Leon and Fernando de Soto 19

If there was no larger game available, they sped their
arrows at the flies on the cabin walls.

In March, De Soto and his dwindling force journeyed
northeasterly from Apalachee. They were soon beyond
the confines of what is now Florida, and we will not
follow them farther in their strange and tragic adven-
tures.
II

THE OLDEST CITY IN THE UNITED STATES

S the earliest permanent settlement made by
Europeans in the United States, St. Augustine
will always have exceptional interest. Its

beginnings are interwoven in a story of barbaric war-
fare between the French and Spanish. Captain Jean
Ribaut with a small French fleet visited the coast in
1562, and named the harbor of St. Augustine the
“River of Dolphins” because of the many porpoises
he saw there. Thence he went on northward and en-
tered the mouth of the St. Johns. Somewhere beside
its waters he planted a stone cross on which was carved
the fleur-de-lis of France. After more exploration
along the coast he sailed back across the Atlantic.

Two years later another fleet came with a colony of
French Protestants to make a permanent settlement
of the country. The colonists were welcomed by the
Indians, who had carefully preserved Ribaut’s cross
with its mystic symbols, and had even sacrificed to it.
These French got to know the savages very well, and
found among them some who claimed to be two and
a half centuries old and expected to live thirty or forty
years more.

20
The Oldest City in the United States 21

A spot was selected a few miles up the St. Johns, on
the south side, and with pine logs and sand a fort was
constructed and called Fort Caroline. This was on
what is now known as St. Johns Bluff. The leader of
the French said that on top of the hill grew “cedars,
palms, and bay trees of so sovereign odor that balm
smelleth not more sweetly,” and in conclusion asserted,
“The place is so pleasant that those which are mel-
ancholic would be inforced to change their humor.”
From the summit of the bluff the sea was in plain sight
to the east, and in the other direction meadows and
islets.

Presently queer doings began in Fort Caroline. A
soldier who professed to have some expertness in magic
stirred up disaffection. Those who came under his
influence seized the leader of the colony while he was
sick, shut him up, and, then went off with a couple of
vessels on a piratical cruise. They were not very suc-
cessful as freebooters. Most of them perished. The
remnant returned to Fort Caroline, where the com-
mandant took four of the ringleaders into custody and
shot them. Afterward he hung them on gibbets as a
warning to others who might be tempted to mutiny.

Before long the garrison got into great straits for
lack of food. But when their resources were well-nigh
exhausted Sir John Hawkins with an English fleet
visited Fort Caroline and gave them a generous allow-
ance of provisions. One of the English wrote, “The
ground doth yield victuals sufficient, if they would have
22 Highways and Byways of Florida

taken pains to get the same; but they, being soldiers,
desired to live by the sweat of other men’s brows.”

This same chronicler said of the use of tobacco
among the Florida Indians that ‘When they travel,
they have a kind of herb dried, and a cane with an
earthern cup in the end. They put together fire and
the dried herb, and do suck through the cane the
smoke, and therewith they live four or five days with-
out meat or drink; and this all the Frenchmen used for
this purpose, yet do they hold that it causeth them to
reject from their stomachs and spit out water and
phlegm.”

The Spanish sovereign, who considered Florida his
property by right of discovery, learned of the French
colony, and promptly dispatched Pedro Menendez in
eleven vessels with twenty-six hundred men to exter-
minate it. When Menendez with several of his ships
approached the mouth of the St. Johns on the after-
noon of September 4, 1565, he descried four French
vessels anchored there outside the bar. These were
part of a fleet with which Jean Ribaut had again come
to America. Menendez prepared for battle, while the
French assailed him with scoffs and insults, but cut
their cables, left their anchors, and in all haste got
their sails up and fled. The Spanish chaplain wrote,
“These devils are such adroit sailors and maneuvered
so well that we did not catch one of them.” Pursuers
and pursued ran out to sea firing useless volleys at each
other.
 

The Cathedral, completed in 1707
 

Ancient Spanish gateway
The Oldest City in the United States 23

By and by Menendez turned back, and voyaged
along the coast southward till he came to an inlet which
he entered, and there debarked troops, guns, and
stores to establish a colony. He had arrived on St.
Augustine’s Day, and conferred the saint’s name on
his settlement. Here was an Indian village. The
dwelling of the chief was a huge barn-like structure,
strongly framed of entire trunks of trees, and thatched
with palmetto leaves. This was taken possession of
by the Spaniards, and around it gangs of workers
toiled throwing up intrenchments. On the 8th of the
month Menendez took formal possession of his domain.
He landed in state at the head of his officers, while
cannon were fired, trumpets sounded, and banners
were displayed. The chaplain, crucifix in hand, came
chanting a hymn to meet Menendez, who, with all his
company knelt and kissed the crucifix. Roundabout
were gathered the Indians gazing in silent wonder.

Ribaut learned of the landing of Menendez, and put
to sea to make a surprise attack on the enemy. The
next day the crew of one of the smaller Spanish vessels
that lay outside the bar at St. Augustine with Menen-
dez himself on board saw through the twilight of early
dawn two of Ribaut’s ships close at hand. Not a
breath of air was stirring, and escape seemed impos-
sible. The Spaniards fell on their knees and prayed
for a little wind. Their prayer was granted, and they
found refuge behind the bar. Soon the increasing light
revealed to their astonished eyes nearly all of Ribaut’s
24. Highways and Byways of Florida

ships, hovering off the entrance to the port, their decks
black with men. But the breeze which Heaven had
sent now freshened to a gale, and then rose to a storm
more violent than any that the Indians had ever known
before. It lashed the ocean into fury, and Menendez
saw the French fleet beat seaward through the rack and
mist, and go on beyond sight, forced southerly by the
tempest. Then he decided to march overland and
attack Fort Caroline during Ribaut’s absence. Natives
guided him and a force of five hundred men across the
intervening forty miles of forest with its vines and
palmetto thickets, and of inundated lowlands with their
brambles, bulrushes, and mud.

Of Ribaut’s followers left at the fort, only nine or
ten had weapons. Four of them were boys who kept
Ribaut’s dogs, and another was his cook. Besides the
few who had weapons, he left a brewer, an old crossbow-
maker, two shoemakers, a player on the spinet, four
valets, an elderly carpenter, a crowd of women and
children, and eighty-six camp-followers. In addition
there were the men who had been at the fort before
Ribaut arrived, but only seventeen of these were able
to bear arms.

The force, such as it was, stood guard in two watches,
each watch in charge of an officer who had a lantern
for going the rounds, and an hour-glass for keeping
track of the time. When day dawned on the 20th of
September, floods of rain were drenching the sentries
on the ramparts, and the officer took pity on them and
The Oldest City in the United States 25

on himself, and they all went to their quarters. At
that very moment the Spaniards were in the neighbor-
ing thickets. Soon they made a rush on the fort, which
had been allowed to fall into disrepair and had several
breaches in its defenses. A trumpeter saw them and
blew an alarm which brought a few half naked soldiers
running wildly out of the barracks. They could make
no effective resistance, the fort was captured, and in a
short time most of its inmates had been slaughtered.
But “after the rage of the assault was spent, Menendez
ordered that women, infants, and boys under fifteen
should be spared.” A few of the other defendants
escaped to the woods, and with great difficulty made
their way to the mouth of the river, where were two
vessels in which they sailed away to France.
Menendez caused his men prisoners to be hung on
the near by trees and left with them an inscription,
“T do this not as to Frenchmen, but to Lutherans.”
Before departing, the pious butcher mustered his fol-
lowers, and wept with emotion as here counted the many
ways in which Heaven had helped their enterprise.
When he returned to St. Augustine, on the 24th,
accompanied by fifty of his men, he was met by the
chaplain bearing a crucifix, “whereupon he, like a
gentleman and a good Christian, kneeled with all his
followers, and gave the Lord a thousand thanks for the
great favors he had received from Him.” ‘Then the
triumphant victors entered St. Augustine in solemn
procession preceded by four chanting priests.
26 Highways and Byways of Florida

Ribaut’s fleet was wrecked on the Florida coast by
the storm, but most of the voyagers got to the shore—
one party of about three hundred and fifty with Ribaut
well down toward Cape Canaveral, and another party
of two hundred farther north. Both parties began to
make their way toward Fort Caroline. The only seri-
ous obstacle in their way was Matanzas Inlet, twenty
miles south of St. Augustine. The lesser party arrived
there first and camped, unable to cross. Indians
brought word of their plight one midday to Menendez,
who promptly set out with three boats to reconnoiter.
About twenty men went in each boat. They rowed
along the channel between Anastasia Island and the
main shore, but when they neared the inlet left their
boats and walked to the other side of the island. There
they bivouacked after nightfall on the sands within
sight of the campfires of the shipwrecked French. Be-
fore daybreak the next morning they went to the bor-
ders of the inlet and hid in a bushy hollow. As it grew
light they could discern the enemy, many of whom
were searching along the sands and shallows for shell-
fish to relieve their hunger.

Menendez went part way across the inlet in a boat
and parleyed with a Frenchman who swam out to
meet him. As a result five of the wrecked party were
brought over to the island for a further parley, but the
Spanish leader’s only response to their appeals for aid
and mercy was, “If you will give up your weapons, I
will do to you as the grace of God shall direct.” More-
Uomo py 207 pe ut YD YT

 
 

Ruin of a Spanish fort at Matanzas Inlet
The Oldest City in the United States 27

over, he said in conclusion: “I have but few men, and
you are so many that you could easily overpower us.
Therefore it is necessary that you should march with
your hands tied.”

The starving French had no recourse except to let
him have his way. So first the boat conveyed across
their banners, guns, swords, and helmets. Then the
men were brought over ten at a time. As each boat-
load arrived, the ten men were taken about two bow-
shots from the shore behind a hillock of sand in a
thicket of bushes, and tied. The transporting con-
sumed the entire day. Twelve of the French who
professed themselves to be Catholics, and four carpen-
ters and calkers, of whom Menendez said he was in
great need, were sent to St. Augustine by water. The
rest were ordered to march thither by land. They
were escorted by a vanguard and rearguard whom
Menendez had ordered to destroy all these prisoners
at a certain lonely spot not far distant, deep among the
bush-covered sandhills; and this was done accordingly.

Somewhat more than a week later, word was brought
to Menendez that the larger French party was on the
south side of the inlet, and he went to deal with it. He
parleyed much as before, but only one hundred and
fifty of the French were persuaded to come across. Of
these he spared two young gentlemen of about eighteen
years of age, and also a fifer, a drummer, and a trump-
eter. The others, including Ribaut, were butchered.
The tragic fate that they and their predecessors met
28 Highways and Byways of Florida

here is commemorated by the name borne by the in-
let—Matanzas—the place of slaughter. It is said that
human bones are often found in the sand of the vicin-
ity, and that the spot is haunted by unquiet ghosts,
who at midnight shriek and moan and expostulate
earnestly in some foreign language.

The remaining two hundred of Ribaut’s men went
down the coast and started to build a vessel from frag-
ments of the wreck, but a Spanish force was sent to
deal with them. Some were captured, and the rest
fled to the Indian towns. Thus was ended for the
time being French colonization in Florida.

The winter that followed was a trying one to the
St. Augustine garrison. The naturally friendly Indians
had been estranged by the cruel treatment of the Span-
iards, and none of the whites could go outside the
fort to hunt or fish without danger from an ever-vig-
ilant and crafty foe. It is said that the lurking savages
slew more than one hundred and twenty of the gar-
rison by surprising them singly or in small parties.
Provisions were scarce, and a considerable part of the
colonists returned to Cuba, Mexico, and Spain.

Meanwhile Menendez had replaced his first rude
fortification with a more pretentious one that he called
Fort St. John of the Pines. It was an octagonal
structure that had walls of logs set upright in the
ground, and it mounted fourteen brass cannon. After
finishing this fort and erecting dwellings and a house
of worship, Menendez sailed away to Spain.
The Oldest City in the United States 29

In April, 1568, an avenging expedition of two hun-
dred and fifty men from France arrived on the Florida
coast. They communicated with the Indians, whom
they found hostile to the Spaniards, gathered a large
force of them, and without much trouble captured
what had been Fort Caroline. Such prisoners as were
taken were led to the same spot where Menendez had
hung his victims. The French leader harangued them,
then swung them up on the trees that had served as
gallows before. Afterward he replaced the Menendez
tablet with a pine board on which was seared the state-
ment that he hung the men, not because they were
Spaniards, but because they were “traitors, thieves,
and murderers.” The French went away satisfied,
yet they had not exterminated the enemy, and St.
Augustine continued to exist.

Menendez returned the next year and turned his
attention to converting the Indians to his religion.
They did not, however, seem to appreciate its sub-
limity. In one place four priests succeeded in baptiz-
ing seven people in a year; but three of the converts
were dying, and the other four were children. The
Indians were quicker to accept the practice than the
precepts of Menendez, and the Spaniards suffered
much from their depredations.

In 1586 the famous English sea rover, Sir Francis
Drake, who had been commissioned by Queen Eliza-
beth to capture or destroy as much Spanish property
as possible, was sailing along the coast of Florida with
30 Highways and Byways of Florida

his fleet when he discovered a lookout on Anastasia
Island. An armed party was sent ashore to investigate,
and it soon returned and reported that the Spaniards
had a fort and a settlement over on the mainland.
Drake then landed a cannon near the head of the is-
land, and two shots were fired at the fort just at night-
fall. The first passed through the royal standard of
Spain waving above the ramparts, and the second
struck the log walls.

Morning dawned, and Drake says, “Forthwith came
a Frenchman, being a phipher, in a little boat, playing
on his phiph a familiar English tune.” He proved to
be one of the men whom Menendez had spared at the
time of the Matanzas massacre. Drake learned from
him that everybody had been scared away from the
fort. Boats were at once manned, and the English
soon entered the town. The garrison, in the haste of -
their flight, had left behind them at the fort the treas-
ure chest containing two thousand pounds, and this
fell into Drake’s hands. He plundered and burned
both the fort and town.

After his departure the people, with some assistance
from Havana, began the task of rebuilding. Two
Indian villages had been established close by—one
right on the northern borders of the town and the
other somewhat farther north. In both villages mis-
sionaries labored for the salvation of the savages; but
in 1598 a young Indian chief, dissatisfied with the
restrictions and reproaches of the priests, incited a
The Oldest City in the United States 31

general conspiracy against them. One evening he and
his followers killed Father Corpa in the chapel of the
nearer village. Then they went to the other village to
serve Father Rodriguez in the same manner. He
begged that he might say mass before he died, and this
favor was granted. His assailants stood by listening
till he finished, then killed him, and the altar was spat-
tered with his blood. Later they went to the several
other missions up and down the coast, and very nearly
exterminated the missionaries. Of course vengeance
was taken by the Spaniards. Many of the marauders
were slain, and their villages and granaries were burned.

There was another Indian outbreak in 1638, and a
large number of prisoners were brought to St. Augus-
tine and set to work on the fortifications. They and
their descendants were kept at this task for sixty years.

In 1665 John Davis, a famous pirate, sailed into the
harbor of St. Augustine with seven vessels. Citizens
and soldiers fled to the woods, and the town was plun-
dered and its wooden portion burned.

The next serious experience of the place was in 1702,
at a time when England and Spain were at war. An
expedition from South Carolina consisting of six hun-
dred militia and an equal number of Indians attacked
St. Augustine by land and by sea. The stone fort of
San Marco was nearing completion, and while the
town was easily captured a month’s siege failed to
reduce the fort into which the town-folk had retired,
taking with them their valuables. Presently two
$2 Highways and Byways of Florida

Spanish vessels appeared before the harbor, and the
besiegers hastened to burn the town and escape, aban-
doning their transports and a considerable amount of
munitions and stores. This expedition cost South
Carolina six thousand pounds, which for a young and
struggling colony of not much more than five thousand
people was such a burden that it led to the issue of the
first paper money ever circulated in America.

The feeling of enmity between the English and
Spanish settlements long continued, and at length
Governor Oglethorpe of Georgia undertook to capture
St. Augustine. He began to bombarb it June 24, 1740,
with three batteries located on Anastasia Island. The
entire population of the town, about three thousand,
took refuge in the fort. Little damage was done, for
the cannon balls simply embedded themselves in the
spongy coquina stone with which the walls were con-
structed. After about a month of this unsatisfactory
battering, the Georgians gave up their attempt and
went back home.

Inroads such as these, and repeated Indian out-
breaks, discouraged all attempts to cultivate the soil,
and St. Augustine remained little more than a garrison
town until Florida was ceded to England in 1762.
Then the Spanish inhabitants nearly all left for Cuba.
Such was their temper that the outgoing governor
uprooted and destroyed the fine garden of the official
residence, and it was with difficulty that many others
were restrained from demolishing their houses. Roads
S139415 mossvu ayy fo au¢—

 
M $TUUo j
Tp SiRROVHEINES:
MEMERY
R

wuoos WIGWA

THis SPOT as
e Ris HIS

we Genet

 

A St. Augustine monument
The Oldest City in the United States 33

were now opened, new settlements made, commerce
began to develop, and for the first time something like
representative government was established. But in
1783 Florida was ceded back to Spain. It was then
the turn of the English inhabitants to leave. Some
went to Carolina and Georgia, and others to the British
West India Islands, and St. Augustine fell back into
its old sleepy condition of a garrison town. This was
perhaps the most idyllic period of the city’s history.
The world went on fighting as usual, but St. Augustine
had ceased to be a bone of contention. During the
genial winter months there was music and dancing,
and civil and ecclesiastical feasts, and all the light
amusements dear to the Latin heart. A traveler
writing of the place then says: ‘“‘The women are de-
servedly celebrated for their charms. Much attention
is paid to the arrangement of their hair, their complex-
ion is a clear brunette, and their lovely black eyes have
a vast deal of expression.” The town’s narrow paved
streets were lined with cool gray coquina-walled houses,
and it was a veritable bower of tropical vegetation.
Within the gates no hoof of horse ever sounded. Those
who could afford to ride went about in palanquins.
Aftér the “Louisiana Purchase” had been negoti-
ated, the acquisition of Florida by the United States
became a matter of prime importance. Its geograph-
ical situation gave it command over the marine high-
way between the old and new sections of the United
States, and in alien hands it was a menace to the na-
34 Highways and Byways of Florida

tion’s commerce. While it belonged to a weak country
like Spain, it was an asylum for restless Indians, fugi-
tive slaves, pirates, and other outlaws, who waged a
vindictive warfare on the republic.

On the 1oth of July, 1821, the guns of the fort thun-
dered their parting salute to the Spanish flag as the
garrison marched out across the drawbridge. ‘Then
the same guns roared forth a rousing welcome to the
stars and stripes which had been run up in place of the
Spanish banner. Florida had been bought by the
United States.

Indian warfare continued to be a disturbing factor
until 1842. Afterward population increased rapidly,
and St. Augustine, which hitherto had been the leading
town, was outdistanced by other places. But a new
era began for St. Augustine when the Civil War ended.
The excellent health enjoyed by the Northern garrison
which occupied the place during the last three years
of the war proved a telling advertisement for the salu-
brity of the climate, and no sooner were hostilities
over than inquiries began to arrive as to hotel accom-
modations for the coming winter. New hotels were
built, unfamiliar Paris fashions appeared on the streets
with the approach of cooler weather, and the ancient
Spanish city entered on a career of prosperity which
surpassed her wildest dreams.

The city stands near the southern end of a peninsula
formed by the Matanzas and San Sebastian Rivers.
The land is for the most part level, and, where not
The Oldest City in the United States 35

cultivated, is covered with beach scrub. Farther back
are monotonous miles of flat woods and prairie. The
gray and time-worn old fortress of San Marco (St.
Mark), with its gloomy portals and dark chambers, is
the most fascinating feature of the place. Its first
stone was laid in 1592, the last in 1756, and it covers
five acres beside the sea. It is a complete medieval
fortress, and is one of the best preserved specimens in
the world of the military architecture of its time. No
other fortification on the western continent can rival
it in age. The name bestowed on it by the Spaniards
was San Marco. When it fell into the hands of the
English they changed the name to St. John. Finally
the United States adopted the present name in honor
of a patriot general of the Revolution.

It was built by the labor of Indian captives, negro
slaves, and of convicts brought from Mexico and Spain.
The material used was coquina rock from the far side
of Anastasia Island opposite the town. The blocks of
quarried stone were carried on cross-bars resting on
the shoulders of the laborers, over a long causeway to
a landing where they were loaded on barges. The
walls are nine feet thick at the bottom and half as
thick at the top. They rise twenty-five feet above the
present level of the moat which surrounds the fort.
This moat is forty feet wide. It could be flooded by
means of automatic gates which opened when the tide
came in, and closed when the tide went out. The moat
now has sand in it to a depth of several feet.
36 Highways and Byways of Florida

A fortified gate protected the entrance, and all who
came into the fort had to pass over a drawbridge that
spanned the moat, and under a heavy portcullis.
Above the entrance was a hole through which melted
lead could be poured on invaders. The broad level at
the top of the ramparts had mountings for sixty-four
guns, and these guns could be trundled down to the
lower level, or from there up to the ramparts, by an
incline, which has latterly been converted into a flight
of steps.

Along the sea front numerous scars and indentations
can be seen in the masonry. Some of these were made
by British guns during Oglethorpe’s siege. Others
have been inflicted by modern riflemen, who at times
used the moat as a shooting-gallery. ‘There is also a
courtyard wall pitted with holes where prisoners form-
erly stood to be shot, and the grass is said to grow
thicker on that spot than elsewhere even yet because
so much blood was spilled there on the ground.

A small brick building in the eastern moat is a fur-
nace built in 1844 to make hot shot for the water bat-
tery to discharge at approaching enemy vessels.

Directly opposite the entrance, inside the fort, was a
chapel, without which no Spanish fort of the period
was complete. It was used for religious services as
late as 1860, and at a later time served as a schoolroom
for some Indian prisoners.

One dungeon was used to punish offenders by chain-
ing them to the wall so that they could neither sit nor
The Oldest City in the United States 37

lie down, but were compelled to maintain an upright
position. In another, which had been sealed up and
its existence unsuspected until the roof caved in, were
found two cages, one containing the skeleton of a man,
and the other that of a woman.

After the capture of Charleston by the British during
the American ‘Revolution, more than fifty of the most
distinguished South Carolinians were seized and sent
to St. Augustine, where they were held for several
months. One of their number was imprisoned nearly
a year in the old fort because he refused to accept the
conditions on which the rest were allowed the range
of the city streets.

In a casemate near the southwest bastion was con-
fined Coacoochee, a celebrated chief in the Seminole
War. He was captured in October, 1837. The whites
had invited Osceola to a conference which was held
under a tree a few miles from St. Augustine. Thither
he came bearing a flag of truce and accompanied by
eighty warriors. They were all unarmed. During the
conference the mounted troops closed in. Osceola was
knocked down with the butt of a musket, and he and
Coacoochee and various other chiefs, and Talmus
Hadjo, the medicine man, and the rest, were taken to
Fort Marion. The only excuse offered by the whites
for this cowardly betrayal was that “The end justifies
the means; the Indians have made fools of us too often.”

Coacoochee and Talmus Hadjo, who occupied a
room together, contrived to get away from their prison
38 Highways and Byways of Florida

a few months later, and here is the former’s account
of how they did it:

“We had been growing sickly, and so resolved to
make our escape or die in the attempt. We were in a
room eighteen or twenty feet square. All the light
admitted was through a hole about eighteen feet from
the floor. Through this we must effect our escape.
A sentinel was constantly posted at the door. To
reach the hole we from time to time cut up the forage-
bags allowed us to sleep on, and made them into ropes.
For some weeks we watched the moon, in order that
the night of our attempt should be as dark as possible.
The keeper of the prison, on the night determined on,
annoyed us by frequently coming into the room, and
talking and singing. At first we thought of tying him,
and putting his head in a bag so that, should he call
for assistance, he could not be heard. We first, how-
ever, tried the experiment of pretending to be asleep.
This accomplished our object. He came in, and went
immediately out; and we could hear him snore in the
vicinity of the door. I then took the rope, which we
had secreted under our bed, and mounting on the
shoulder of my comrade worked a knife into a crevice
of the stonework as far up as I could reach. On this I
raised myself to the opening. Here I made fast the
rope that my friend might follow me. I then passed
a sufficient length of it through the hole to reach about
twenty-five feet to the ground in the ditch outside.
With much difficulty I succeeded in getting through,
The Oldest City in the United States 39

for the sharp stones took the skin off my breast and
back. I was obliged to go down head foremost until
my feet were through, fearing every moment the rope
would break.

“At last, safe on the ground, I awaited with anxiety
the arrival of my comrade. Two men passed near me,
talking earnestly, and I could see them distinctly.
Soon I heard the struggling of my companion far above
me. He had succeeded in getting his head through,
but. his body would come no farther. In the lowest
tone of voice I urged him to throw out his breath, and
then try. Afterward he came tumbling down the
whole distance. For a few moments I thought him
dead. I dragged him to some water close by, which
restored him, but his leg was so lame he was unable to
walk. I took him on my shoulder to a thicket near the
town. Daylight was just breaking. It was evident
we must move rapidly. I caught a mule in an adjoin-
ing field, and making a bridle out of my sash, helped
my companion mount, and started for the St. Johns
River. The mule was used one day, but fearing the
whites would track us, we felt more secure on foot,
though moving very slow. Thus we continued our
journey five days, subsisting on roots and berries, when
I joined my band, then assembled on the headwaters
of the Tomoka River.”

The possibility of making such an escape from the
old fort has sometimes been questioned. A wealthy
tourist once wagered that the Indian captives could
40 Highways and Byways of Florida

not have gotten out through that high window and
down to the ground. A United States sergeant ac-
cepted the wager and himself performed the feat to the
great delight of the spectators.

During the years 1875 to 1878 a considerable number
of Texas Indians were imprisoned in the St. Augustine
fortress. Some were known to be guilty of atrocious
crimes. Others were simply leading men of their
tribes against whom there was no particular charge,
but who were confined on the principle that prevention
is better than cure. Among them were individuals
with such names as Medicine Water, Hailstone, Sharp
Bully, Come See Him, and Lean Bear. During the
day they were allowed to move about the interior of
the fort, and were sometimes taken out in squads to
bathe. At night they were locked up.

In 1886 seventy-seven Apache Indians were brought
to the fort, where they were kept about a year. One
of them was Nanna, their nation’s greatest war chief,
and a person who probably had more scars on his body
than any other man in the country.

The fort was in the hands of the Confederates at the
time of the Civil War until March, 1862, when a Union
gunboat came across the bar, and the fort displayed
a white flag. The small garrison and about one-fourth
of the inhabitants had fled the night before, and a
number of women had cut down the flagstaff in front
of the barracks in order to delay the hoisting of the
national colors.
The Oldest City in the United States 41

Shortly afterward a detail of Federal troops from
the fort, acting as guards for a party of wood-cutters,
was attacked by a squadron of Confederate cavalry.
The attacking party made a dash for the teams of the
wood-cutters, but was driven off after a sharp skirmish.
Three of the Federals were killed, and their commander
was mortally wounded.

In the center of the old section of the city is the
plaza, an attractive stretch of greensward, paths,
shrubs, and shade trees. Probably the square was
originally designed for a parade ground. We know
that the British soldiers drilled and performed their
evolutions there, and that it was used in the same way
by the Union troops in the Civil War. It has always
been the scene of public meetings, and on it the men-
at-arms gathered when the alarm gun was fired in the
old days of strife with red foes and white. While
Florida was a part of the British empire the American
Revolution was fought. The sentiment of St. Augus-
tine was intensely loyal, and when the news of the
Declaration of Independence was received Adams and
Hancock were burned in effigy on the plaza.

Among the trees is a low open-sided pillared struc-
ture in which the tourists find shelter from the sun,
and drink sulphur water. This is known as the old
slave market. It stands on the site of a frame building
which the Spanish used as a general market, but in
which slaves are said to have been sometimes sold.

At the north end of the plaza is the post office with

‘
42 Highways and Byways of Florida

its long two-story veranda front. It is without doubt
the oldest post office in the United States. During the
Spanish rule it was the governor’s palace. The little
park around it was walled in and was the governor’s
private garden.

Near by, fronting on the plaza, is the old cathedral,
finished in 1797, the first Roman Catholic church in
the United States. Its Moorish belfry contains a
chime of four bells, the smallest of which bears the
date of 1682.

The buildings in the older parts of the town gener-
ally date back to the final period of Spanish occupancy,
between 1784 and 1821. On some of the narrow an-
cient streets many of the houses have balconies that
project toward each other from the second story in a
very sociable way. Particularly interesting are the
buildings that have walls of coquina. Many of the
quaint old dwellings have high-walled gardens full of
tropical trees and flowers.

Treasury Street, which used to be famed as the
narrowest street in the United States, has been effaced
by fire. It was six feet and one inch wide, and a good-
sized man could reach across it with outstretched
arms.

St. George’s Street, nineteen feet wide has been the
main business thoroughfare of the place for three cen-
turies. Here, near the city gates, is seen a rude little
story and a half house which is the oldest frame house
in our country. It was formerly a schoolhouse.
The Oldest City in the United States 43

Scarcely less interesting is the “House of History”
fronting on the bay. It was erected by Spanish offi-
cials before 1691, and one of its rooms served for the
first city jail. Here the more desperate prisoners were
shackled with heavy chains to the floor.

St. Augustine’s situation on the peninsula is such
that only from the north was there serious danger of
land attack. Three lines of defense were constructed
there extending from river to river. The inner line
contained the city gates, which have survived to the
present time flanked by a few yards of coquina wall,
with the stone sentry boxes in the buttresses. The »
rest of the wall was a palisade of logs. On the outer
side of the wall was a water-filled moat, and the ap-
proach to the gates was by a drawbridge which was
pulled up at night. Substantial earthworks paralled
the wall farther north, and the exterior slope of their
parapet was covered with a dense growth of Spanish
bayonet, through which it was well-nigh impossible to
force a passage. The gates were strongly guarded, and
repeatedly saved the town from sudden enemy on-
slaughts.

Because the ocean was making encroachments on
the city, a sea wall was built in 1691. The present sea
wall, three-fourths of a mile long, was completed by
the United States government in 1842. It rises ten
feet above low tide, and has a granite coping three feet
broad which is much used as a promenade. In the
early days easterly storms with their accompanying
44 Highways and Byways of Florida

high tides often drove the water up into the streets,
and even now the spray at times flies over the coping.

There used to be a tattered old darky who loitered
along the sea wall near the ancient fort, watching with
wary eyes till a tourist came into his vicinity. Then
he would say: “Hyar yo’ are, suh! Hyar’s yo” lucky
beans. Take a han’ful, suh, an’ be lucky all de res’ ob
yo born days. I give dem to yuh. I aint charge yo’
nuffin’ kase yo’ is de ve’y image ob my ol’ massa.
Yaas yo’ is, suh! Monst’ous fine lookin’ man he was,
yaas, suh. De ladies jes’ nachully foller my ol’ massa
roun’ kase he such a fine man. T’ank yo’ kindly, suh.
Yo’ sho is like ol’ massa!”

Whether the man he accosted was tall or short, fat
or lean, made no difference. If he addressed a lady,
she was the image of his “‘ol’ missus” who was the best
dressed and handsomest woman in the state.

When he was asked on a frosty morning what made
the weather so cold, he replied: ‘It’s dese Northern
people. We never had nuffin’ like dis ontwell dey
begun to come down hyar so much. ’Pears like dey
brung it in der clo’es.”

Customs that were relics of the Spanish days pre-
vailed in the city to the time of the Civil War. Just
before Lent, carnival was observed, with masquerades
and idle and frivolous street sport by night, and pro-
cessions of vagrant men and boys disguised in masks
and grotesque array by daylight. A ridiculous bur-
lesque, exhibited in honor of St. Peter, the fisherman
The Oldest City in the United States 45

of Galilee, was the closing show of the feast. “As I
passed along one of the narrow streets,” says an eye-
witness, “‘my attention was arrested by various excla-
mations and boisterous cries of a motley crowd of black
and white, who thronged the street, occasionally surg-
ing to the right hand and left. On a nearer approach
I perceived two men heading the rabble with faces
masked and their persons attired in a coarse shabby
fisher’s dress. Over the shoulder of each was flung a
net. Whenever a boy, black or white, came within
range of a cast, the net was suddenly thrown ever him.
Thus the streets were beset till the end of the carnival
brought an end ‘to this solemn farce illustrating the
call of St. Peter to become a fisher of men.”

Another odd celebration was the “‘shivaree.” On
an evening after a marriage the welkin was made to
ring with a most discordant concert of voices, horns,
tin pans, and other boisterous sounds. The whole city
was disturbed by the ill-mannered riot and confusion.
In any orderly community it would have consigned
the perpetrators to a guard-house. The residence of
the newly-wedded pair was beset by the rabble in some
cases till the noise-makers were bought off with money

or whisky.

In December, 1840, there appeared a “Notice to
Travelers” informing them that a carriage had begun
to make the trip twice a week between St. Augustine
and Picolata, not quite a score of miles west on the
St. Johns. The notice goes on to say: “Those who
46 Highways and Byways of Florida

patronize this undertaking are assured that the horses
are strong and sound, the carriage commodious and
comfortable, that none but careful and sober drivers
will be employed, also every attention will be paid to
their convenience. Fare each way five dollars. A
military escort will accompany ‘the stage going and
returning.” ‘

The Indians were on the warpath at the time, and
there were many tragedies in the vicinity. One of
these occurred in May of that year. Three members
of a theatrical company were attacked while coming
toward the town over the Picolata road. One was
killed. Another hid in a swamp pond, entirely under
water except his face, and that was covered by a large
leaf of a water plant. When a party of white searchers
arrived he revealed himself to them by lifting the leaf,
greatly to their surprise. The third man escaped to
St. Augustine, which he is said to have entered with his
hair standing perfectly erect on his head, and in twenty-
four hours his hair had turned entirely white. The
Indians rifled the baggage wagon and carried off a
considerable portion of the stage dresses and other
paraphenalia. Neither this loss nor the death of one
of their number prevented the troupe from filling their
engagement in St. Augustine.

The city was not connected by railroad with Jack-
sonville until after 1870. For some time previous daily
steamers plying on the St. Johns between Jacksonville
and Pilatka left passengers for St. Augustine at Tecoi,
The Oldest City in the United States 47

which consisted of a shed and a sandbank, and a little
shanty where refreshments were served. A railroad
went thence across country to the coast. It had wooden
rails, and the primitive cars were drawn by horses.
Two hours ordinarily sufficed for the journey, but in
the height of the season, when the cars were crowded,
four hours were consumed in going the fifteen miles.
Yet, in spite of slow locomotion and rough accommo-
dations, constant throngs of the rank and fashion of
the winter pleasure seekers passed over this railroad,
and to some at least the leisurely ride was a source of
never-ceasing interest and pleasure. Long reaches of
green moist land formed perfect flower-gardens. The
woods hung full of beautiful climbing plants. Through
openings here and there could be seen groves of wild
orange trees. Palmettos raised their scaly trunks and
gigantic green fans. Not only did the cars move lei-
surely, but there were many pauses which enabled the
passengers to gather specimens of the floral beauties.

St. Augustine is separated from the ocean by a water
channel a half mile broad, and Anastasia Island, which
has here a width of somewhat over a mile. A long
bridge connects the city with the island. Sand dunes,
partially overgrown with scrub pine and palmetto, are
the predominant feature of the island, and so white is
the sand and so fine its texture that it resembles the
drifting snows of the far north.

The Spaniards early found it necessary to main-
tain a lookout on the island to watch for approaching
48 Highways and Byways of Florida

vessels. They at first posted a man in a “crow’s-nest,”
a platform at the top of some tall tree-trunks. Subse-
quently a coquina tower was erected. In 1769 the
English added sixty feet to its height with framework
on which they mounted a cannon. Whenever a vessel
was sighted coming, the cannon was fired and a flag
was hoisted. There were two flagstaffs, one on the
north side and one on the south side, and the flag was
run up on the side whence the vessel was approaching.
After the United States came into possession of Florida
the old tower was converted into a lighthouse_whose
warning rays were first displayed in 1823. It was
originally a half mile from the beach, but the sea grad-
ually ate away the land till 1880, when a violent storm
undermined the walls. The vicinity is still strewn with
the ruins. The present light tower is painted with
black and white spiral bands so that it can be readily
distinguished from any other landmark on the coast.

A mile and a half south of the lighthouse are the
coquina quarries. Coquina is a Spanish word which
means shellfish, and this indicates the material of
which the rock is composed. It is a natural concrete
of tiny shells with here and there a larger shell em-
bedded in it. These shells are the accumulation of
ages. Before exposure to the air the rock is compara-
tively soft and can be readily carved for building pur-
poses into any shape required. It is enduring amd
attractive. Vast quantities of the loose shells strew
the neighboring beaches.
PUviST VIsDIsDU Pp “yI02q 3Y7 UO Kioniga 7

 
 

Pablo Beach palmettos and sand dunes
The Oldest City in the United States 49

South Beach, on Anastasia Island, boasts of an
alligator farm, where you can see the alligators in all
stages of growth from those just out of the shells to the
mature monsters. The beaches of the vicinity are
noted for their bathing and fishing and for their au-
tomobile courses.

Down at Matanzas Inlet are the ruins of an old
Spanish fort that guarded this approach to the town.
Three and a half miles northeast of the inlet a great
spring wells up through the sea water, which has there
a general depth of fifty feet. When directly over or to
the leeward of it a sulphurous odor may be perceived.
III

THE STATELY ST. JOHNS AND THE BEAUTIFUL
OCKLAWAHA

HE Indians called the St. Johns the Welaka,
which means “chain of lakes,” and which very
accurately describes the stream. When it was

discovered by the French, who made it a welcome
harbor on the first day of May, 1562, they named it
in honor of that month, the River of May. The Span-
iards called it the San Mateo (St. Matthew) and after-
ward San Juan (St. John). It is the one large river of
Florida. Indeed, in its lower course it is one of the
widest of American rivers, and resembles an arm of
the sea. It is one of the few rivers on the continent
that run north. For seventy-five miles between Pa-
latka and Jacksonville it is never less than one mile
wide, and in places attains a breadth of six miles. In
the final stretch of fifteen miles below Jacksonville it
spreads over extensive marshes, but is comparatively
narrow where it joins the sea.

The St. Johns rises in Saw Grass Lake on the borders
of the Everglades, not a dozen miles from the east
coast. The water of the upper river is beautifully pure
and transparent, but below Sanford it is a dark muddy

5°
The Saint Johns and the Ocklawaha SI

stream which makes its sluggish way through an in-
terminable succession of swamps. So slight is the fall
that the brackish tides are perceptible for a hundred
miles above the mouth.

For over two centuries after the Spanish established
themselves in Florida the St. Johns was practically the
only avenue of travel to the interior of the peninsula.
Vessels drawing five feet can ascend it about two hun-
dred and thirty miles, and then are only seven miles
from the tide water of the Indian River. The St.
Johns affords innumerable attractions to sportsmen,
yachtsmen, and fishermen to indulge in their favorite
pastime. It is enticing and tricksy for sailing craft,
for it starts you out with all manner of zephyrs until
you get into the very middle, several miles from land
on either side, when down goes your limp sail, and the
breeze is off on some other errand, leaving you to your
reflections.

The shallows are full of fish, and you may sometimes
see mullet leap from the river surface six feet into the
air, gleaming like silver in the sunshine.

At Jacksonville the river makes a sharp turn to the
eastward. Long before the advent of Europeans this
elbow of the river formed a natural rendezvous for
tribal, war, and hunting expeditions. An early Eng-
lish name for it was Cows Ford. When Florida was
under British rule, what was called the King’s Road
was built north and south from St. Augustine, and this
crossed the St. Johns at Cows Ford.
52 Highways and Byways of Florida

In 1816 Lewis Z. Hogans, a settler here on the south
side of the river, married a Spanish widow, who held a
grant of two hundred acres of land on the present site
of Jacksonville. After that he made his home on her
property. A little later a ferry was established, and
in 1820 an inn was opened. Two years more passed,
and streets were laid out and a town government or-
ganized. In 1833 the place was named in honor of
General Andrew Jackson, who was governor of Florida
for a time after it was acquired by the United States.
During the Seminole War Jacksonville became a place
of refuge, blockhouses were erected, and a garrison
was maintained there.

A description of the city in 1855 informs us that it
had a population of less than two thousand. Its streets
were of deep soft sand, but broad and regular. Fine
residences were few, and not much attention was paid
to flowers or lawns. Most of the dwellers rooted out
the grass so that snakes would be less likely to lurk in
the yards. There were two or three groves of oaks and
magnolias in the place, and a swamp in which the
water was several feet deep in spots. The post office
was a little ten by twelve wooden structure in which
the postmaster conducted a jewelry business. Two
mails arrived each week, one from Savannah, and one
from Charleston, both by boat. These boats and a
stage twice a week to Tallahassee were the only public
conveniences for coming to, or leaving, the city.

There was a Masonic Hall and an Odd Fellows Hall.
The Saint Johns and the Ocklawaha 53

The method used to notify the public when a meeting
was to be held in one of these halls was for an official
to go to an open window and blow a horn. You can
judge that the city was not extensive, for the people
could all hear the tooting.

Security at night was secured by two patrolmen who
were selected by the marshal each day from the male
citizens to serve from eight o’clock in the evening to
six in the morning. It was their duty to arrest every
colored person who was found away from home with-
out a pass from owner or employer. The place where
those arrested were lodged was a small building called
“the jug.” In the morning they were brought before
the mayor, fined, and released.

Several schooners were often at the wharves taking
on lumber. A city boat towed many logs from both
up and down the river. The captain usually drew
near port about midnight, and let every one know he
was coming, whether they wished that information or
not, by sounding his whistle all the time for the last
few miles until he reached his landing.

Jacksonville’s first railroad, which extended fifty
miles to Alligator, now Lake City, was begun in 1857.
It was completed in March, three years later, when
an excursion was given the people of Jacksonville to
the western terminal. A big crowd went, there was a
barbecue and speeches, and they had a grand time.
About a week later the railroad gave the Lake City
people an excursion to Jacksonville, and a maiden of
54 Highways and Byways of Florida

the former place, bearing a pitcher of water from Lake
De Soto at her end of the railroad, mingled it with a
pitcher of water from the St. Johns River carried by a
Jacksonville lass.

At the beginning of the Civil War lumbering had
become an important industry in the vicinity, and
Jacksonville was without a rival in its shipment of
Florida produce. A small Confederate force held the
city until March, 1862, when three United States
gunboats and several lesser vessels came up the river.
The Confederates retreated to the interior, and the
place was peacefully surrendered by the city author-
ities. According to the Federals they found many
smoldering ruins of mills and other buildings, but the
Confederates declared that this destruction was the
work of the invaders. Announcement was made that
the place would be permanently held by the national
forces, and a meeting of citizens repudiated the ordi-
nance of secession. Yet in less than a month the troops
were withdrawn. Many of the inhabitants who had
declared their allegiance to the Union feared to remain,
and were given transportation to the North.

In the autumn Jacksonville was again occupied for
a short time by the Federals. They came for a third
time early the following spring. The troops on this
occasion were negroes who had lately been slaves.
Three transports convoyed by a gunboat brought them
up the river. There was no opposition, and when the
transports made fast to the wharves the men jumped
The Saint Johns and the Ocklawaha 55

ashore without waiting for the gang-plank. The
townspeople were much alarmed by the arrival of the
negro soldiers, but no serious trouble developed.

A considerable body of Confederates was encamped
about eight miles to the westward. One day they
mounted a gun on a platform car and ran it down the
track within range of the city. Several buildings were
struck by shells from the gun. The Federal com-
mander went out with a reconnoitering party and lost
a number of men in a brush with the enemy. After a
stay of only three weeks the Union troops again aban-
doned the city. In the confusion of departure a mania
for firing buildings developed among the stragglers and
camp followers. The fleet steamed away leaving the
place in flames, which, fanned by a high wind, almost
destroyed the town.

In February, 1864, the Federals were back, this
time with ten thousand troops, and the intention to
secure complete control of the peninsula by marching
along the railroad from Jacksonville to Tallahassee.
The Confederates had promptly evacuated the former
place and withdrawn fifty miles west to the vicinity
of Olustee. There they threw up earthwork defenses
where the railroad was crossed by a swampy creek
with a lake on one side and piney woods on the other.
Protracted rains had filled the lowlands with water so
that they were nearly impassable. At noon on the
2oth of the month the Federal advance neared Olustee
and marched into a trap. The mud and water that
56 Highways and Byways of Florida

were in the woods for miles along the railroad, and the
jungle of palmetto scrub had caused the omission of
any adequate scouting, and the first notice the Feder-
als had of danger was a scathing discharge of bullets
from an invisible foe. A line of battle was formed, and
a spirited fire was returned, but it was impossible to
get at the enemy on account of the morass. Regiment
after regiment moved forward, exhausted its ammu-
nition into the screen of pine and palmetto, and fell
back leaving a heavy percentage of dead and dying.
Late in the afternoon the Confederates assumed the
offensive, and the Federals retreated. The victors had
captured five hundred prisoners and two thousand
small-arms, and inflicted a loss in killed, wounded, and
missing of a fifth of their opponent’s men. This was
the most important. Florida battle in the war. The
whole field of action can be seen from the car window
a mile east of Olustee.

Jacksonville, whose inhabitants now numbered
scarcely more than one hundred, remained in Union
hands until peace was declared. Its growth since has
been notably rapid. It prospers because of its ad-
mirable location, with railroads and steamship lines
that make it the gateway to the larger part of the state.
The greatest event in its recent history was a terrible
conflagration in May, 1901, that wiped out the prin-
cipal part of it. Six hundred and fifty acres were
burned over, and nearly three thousand buildings
destroyed, entailing a property loss of fifteen million
The Saint Johns and the Ocklawaha 57

dollars. But a much finer city has arisen from the
ashes, and it ‘has become the Florida metropolis with
a population that is nearing one hundred thousand.
It is the largest orange market in the world. The
streets are pleasantly shaded by immense live oaks
and other trees. There are a number of bathing re-
sorts on the Atlantic coast within reach of the city, and
among its suburban attractions is an ostrich farm.

When one starts from Jacksonville on a voyage up
the river he soon leaves behind the city uproar, the
skyscrapers and drawbridges and shipping, and is amid
scenery that has changed little from the days before
the white men came, when the waters of the river
were navigated only by the picturesque Indian dugouts
fashioned by fire and hatchet from a single cypress
log. At Jacksonville the St. Johns is three miles wide,
and as far as Palatka it continues so broad that the
shores as seen from the steamer present no very dis-
tinctive features.

Back of the swamps that border the stream is higher
ground where are attractive villages, groves, and
farms, but these are for the most part beyond the voy-
ager’s sight. Occasionally he gets a glimpse of a road
that comes down through the sand from a sub-tropical
wilderness that is almost primeval. The road ends at
a long pier that reaches out across the shallows to
where there is deep water, which is only near the mid-
dle of the stream.”

Some years ago “A Florida Housekeeper” wrote to
58 Highways and Byways of Florida

a New York newspaper to enlighten the thousands of
people who each year go up and down the river and
return North with very little more idea of Florida
than they had when they came from their homes. Her
own home was only a stone’s throw back from the
borders of the stream. She says:

“Our house is on a shell mound a good many feet
above the water level. These shell mounds are fre-
quent on the river. Our house is very comfortable,
and we live a pleasant life. Cattle can be bought for
fifteen dollars a head, and live on the food in the woods.
Our cattle are branded and range for twenty miles.
We keep the calves at home, and the cows come to
them every evening. We have about sixty cattle, and
once in two or three weeks we kill one of them. We
eat some of the beef while fresh, and corn the rest.
Chickens we get for thirty cents each. About once a
week our man kills a wild turkey in the woods near the
house. About once in two weeks some one of the
household shoots a deer, and we have venison. Early
in the morning we send a man with a cast net to the
river, and he catches about twenty fish. Our hogs
number about thirty. A grown pig is worth four dol-
lars. They range the woods and feed on what they
find. Besides the above list of meats we have quail
and ducks, pigeons, and bear’s meat. Bears sometimes
help themselves to one or two of our pigs.

‘“We had from our garden last year Irish potatoes,
sweet potatoes, cabbages, lettuce, tomatoes, peas,
The Saint Johns and the Ocklawaha 59

turnips, and beets, which the soil yielded with very
little trouble and expense. We also had figs, oranges,
lemons and citrons, grapes and blackberries, huckle-
berries, watermelons, peaches, and bananas. We have
our own corn and hominy, also our own syrup of sugar-
cane, and our own rice. We have a mule to plough and
work, and we have a horse for family use. We have
our watch dog, and ten hunting dogs which keep us in
venison and game. We have colored servants, and
they do well. Pine wood for house fires, and oak for
cooking in a stove is all picked up on the place. We
sail and drive and walk and are busy early and late.

“T heard a Northern party remark that they had seen
no flowers in Florida but pumpkin blossoms. I sup-
pose some people go through the world with their eyes
shut; or what shall I suppose with flowers all about
me?”

If you are in a village near the St. Johns in the early
morning you are likely to hear the tinkle of cowbells
on the street, and you will see the scrub cows of the
place rambling toward the river. There they wade
out perhaps several hundred yards into water as deep
as permits them to stand without swimming. They
are after the tender leafage of aquatic plants. When
they have satisfied their appetites they return to the
shore and repose beneath the live oaks chewing the cud
of contentment. The cows are particularly fond of
water hyacinths, and keep them close cropped along
the borders of such parts of the stream as they frequent.
60 Highways and Byways of Florida

These plants everywhere line the river bank, and little
green rafts of them are continually floating down the
stream. They are equipped with air bulbs that enable
them to keep afloat even when separated from their
moorings. When they blossom in the spring they
make the margins of the broad river a blue sheen of
dainty color. On the creeks where they are undis-
turbed by browsing cattle, or by boats, they crowd the
surface from shore to shore with serried ranks of their
green air bulbs, and effectually halt all navigation.
They are capable of growing on marshy land beside
the streams, but for the most part are in the water
where they attain their largest size when floating with-
out being attached to the bottom. The rosettes formed
by the blossoms sometimes reach up two feet above
the water. Within a few years after they had been
introduced on the St. Johns for the purpose of beauti-
fying the stream they threatened to render navigation
on the river impossible. Great masses of the plants
collected along the shores and were shifted by wind
and current until they formed obstructions extending
over its entire breadth, through which even steamers
could not penetrate.

As one goes up the river, Mandarin, fifteen miles
from Jacksonville, is exceptionally interesting because
here Harriet Beecher Stowe made her winter home from
1868 to 1884. She came south to escape the bitter
New England weather, and to help educate the colored
people whom she had done so much to set free. First
The Saint Johns and the Ocklawaha 61

she hired an old plantation on the west side of the
St. Johns near the present village of Orange Park and
established her son Frederick there as a cotton planter.
But raising cotton was not a business success and was
abandoned after a two years’ trial.

Meanwhile, she had been attracted by the charms
of Mandarin on the other side of the river. Many
years before, an English colony had settled there in
the jungle and started orange groves. Ina short time
the scent of the waxy white orange blossoms filled the
air each spring with rich perfume, and toward the
year’s end the trees were decked with golden fruit.
Slender lines of docks were built far out across the
river shallows to where ships could take on cargoes of
the precious harvest for Northern ports. Along the
lanes were hedgerows, the gardens bloomed with Eng-
lish roses and lilies and violets, and ivy climbed over
the porches. Mrs. Stowe bought a place containing
two hundred acres. On it was a comfortable cottage,
five large date palms, an olive tree in full bearing, and
a fine orange grove of one hundred and fifteen trees
that in a recent year had yielded fruit that sold on the
wharf for two thousand dollars. The story-and-a-half
dwelling stood on a bluff overlooking the St. Johns,
which is five miles broad at this point. It nestled in
the shade of a grove of superb moss-hung live oaks,
round one of which the front piazza was built. Every-
where about were flowers and singing birds. Northern
sightseers, attracted by Mrs. Stowe’s fame, would
62 Highways and Byways of Florida

sometimes land at the wharf, roam over the place,
pick flowers, and peer into the house through the doors
and windows.

There was no railroad nearer than Jacksonville, and
the family were chiefly dependent on the river steamers
for keeping in touch with the rest of the world. When
they wanted to make a land trip they would go in an
old wagon drawn by a mule, a worn-out patriarch
named Fly. If any of the darky tribe were behind him
he would prick up his ears and trot at a decent pace.
But with the white women and girls in the vehicle he
was obstinately determined not to put one foot before
the other one bit faster than he was actually forced to
do. Down would flop his ears, down went his head,
and he crept along contemplatively “looking for all
the world like a very rough dilapidated old hair trunk
in a state of locomotion.” However, there was one
accomplishment in which no mule could have been
better versed than was Fly—he could be trusted to
stand for any length of time without an attempt to
move.

Mandarin prospered until 1886. One noon in Feb-
ruary of that year the mercury stood at eighty. Winter
seemed to be past, and the languorous spring had
apparently arrived. In mid-afternoon clouds drifted
up from the southwest, and there was much rain. The
weather turned chilly, and the chill increased until
late in the day the last of the rain that fell on the tree
foliage became icicles. These icicles swayed and tin-
The Saint Johns and the Ocklawaha 63

kled in the northwest wind all night, and before morn-
ing the thermometer had registered fifteen degrees
above zero. A thousand acres of orange trees at Man-
darin were frozen, trunk and branches. But the trees
started up from the roots, and the more courageous
colonists nursed their orchards back into bearing, only
to have them cut to the ground by frost a second time
about ten years after the other freeze. Most of the
people moved away, and for a long time tenantless
houses and gardens overgrown by jungle were numer-
ous in the vicinity. Mrs. Stowe’s house was torn down,
and its very foundations have been obliterated by the
tangle of wild verdure which in that climate overuns
everything so quickly when not repressed. But the live
oaks with their towering rounded heads still remain.
Not much more than a dozen miles south of Man-
darin is Green Cove Springs. ‘The spring that has
made the place famous is one that discharges three
thousand gallons every minute at a temperature of
seventy-eight degrees the year round. The wonderful
purity of the water and its green mysterious depths
and reflections are a source of never-ending pleasure.
‘At the head of deep water navigation is Palatka,
one of the most important towns of the interior of the
state. The river here is one mile broad, and is crossed
by the only vehicle bridge in its entire length. There
was formerly published at Palatka a newspaper which
was so noted for its alligator stories that the editor was
universally known as “Alligator Pratt.”
64 Highways and Byways of Florida

Near the town is a two thousand acre camphor
plantation, the only one in the United States. The
camphor gum is extracted from the leaves and twigs.

South of Palatka the river is comparatively narrow
and swift, and so crooked that the distance is twice
that by rail. The trees on the banks and the flourish-
ing and unfamiliar vegetation, and the frequent towns
and villages are now close enough at hand to be inter-
esting. Sanford, which is probably the best known of
all the places on this part of the river, is becoming
celebrated as “The Celery City.” When a traveler
steps off a train there in April he is accosted by a smil-
ing young woman who says, “Won’t you try some of
our celery?” and proffers a fragrant, tempting stalk
or two with the remark, “‘We are very proud of the
celery we grow here, and want all strangers to know
how good it is.”

The waters of the upper river and of the numerous
lakes it links together are teeming with bass, pickerel,
perch, and other varieties of fish; and in the cooler
part of the year they are the resort of myriads of ducks
and snipe. The virgin forests that stretch away on
either side abound in quail, turkey, and deer, and con-
tain now and then a bear, wild cat, and panther.

Palatka is the starting-point of the Ocklawaha
steamers. They go south twenty-five miles, then turn
west and enter the old forests of the “dark crooked
water,” which is what the name of the stream means
in English. The journey ends at Silver Springs, one
saary suyof 15 241 fo Stapsog ay, Uo yoou yainb pr

 
 

Getting the trotter ready
The Saint Johns and the Ocklawaha 64

hundred and ten miles farther on. Enthusiasts call
the Ocklawaha “the sweetest water-lane in the world,”
and the voyage through this liquid silent forest aisle is
full of weird interest. Certainly no trip to Florida is
complete which does not include an outing on this
romantic stream with its ever-changing scenes and its
tonic air laden with the balsamic odors of the forest.
The voyage is a visit to fairyland. A native of Vermont
cleared the river of fallen trees, snags, and other ob-
structions and began to make the Ocklawaha trip with
passenger steamboats at the close of the Civil War.
Before that nothing larger than barges propelled by
poles navigated the stream.

As the river winds along, it almost doubles on itself
in places. Often it is so narrow that it is no more than
a creek, and the passengers wonder if the boat will not
be obliged to retreat. But the vessel has been built to
overcome these difficulties, and while having no more
than the deck dimensions of a tug makes up in height
what she lacks in length and width. Besides she has
a peculiar recessed stern wheel, and double steering
gear. She turns and twists with the channel, now
approaching this shore and now that, and sometimes
running so close to the trees that the branches flap
against the people in the more exposed deck positions.
You can seldom see more than a few hundred yards
ahead, but each turn reveals some new attraction.
More than nine-tenths of the voyage is through a dense
growth of partly submerged cypress, and only at a few
66 Highways and Byways of Florida

points does dry land approach the channel, but the
edges of the swift deep stream are defined by the flowers
and leaves of aquatic plants, among which are the
familiar lilies, “sitting on their round lily-pads like
white queens on green thrones.”

One annoyance to sensitive persons on the old-time
passenger boats was the constant firing of sportmen’s
guns. These guns were in the hands of men who seemed
to think that the chief end of man is to shoot some-
thing. They were not shooting to procure food or fur
or feathers, for the boat kept on its way, and they se-
cured nothing that they hit. It was an indiscriminate
killing and maiming without a particle of sympathy
for the animals of that paradise through which the
boat was passing. The fusillade spared no living thing
that showed itself. If a bird was hit and hung head
downward from a limb with a broken wing, the deed
was greeted with a chorus of laughter. If an alligator
was struck the applause redoubled, and the creature’s
dying agonies were found extremely diverting. Several
shooting accidents to passengers, one of which resulted
fatally, at last compelled a reform of the abuse.

Animal life along the river had been nearly extermi-
nated, but since the use of firearms has been prohibited
the wild creatures of the swamps have become quite
fearless. You will see herons, eagles, and other deni-
zens of the watery forest, and sometimes a timid deer.
On the partly submerged trunks of trees are numerous
turtles sunning themselves. There they sit in solemn,
The Saint Johns and the Ocklawaha 67

silent rows until the steamer draws near, and then they
plunge into the water and swim away under the sur-
face. But the creature which arouses the most interest
is the alligator. To lie all day on a log or on the bank
basking in the sunshine seems to be the ideal of its
existence. The hotter the day the more alligators are
visible. Several are sure to be seen on any day when
the weather is warm, and half a hundred are sighted
sometimes. ‘The largest are fully twelve feet long.
Most of them slide into the water with surprising
nimbleness as the boat approaches, but there are those
who refuse to budge.

Besides furnishing pleasure to tourists, the Ockla-
waha is something of a commercial highway. From
far back on the gently rising uplands that lie beyond
the swampy shores of the river come flatboats loaded
to the water’s edge with crates of oranges. They are
propelled down dark lagoons and sinuous creeks till
they arrive at the river, where the accommodating
steamer stops to take their freight on board. You may
also encounter a raft that is being navigated to a saw-
mill by a couple of negroes. At long intervals there is
a clearing with orange groves and a house or two, and
there are remains of former lumber camps, and a few
landings where you may see an occasional human
being.

The latter part of the Ocklawaha journey is made
at night, and it is then that the river is seen most im-
pressively after a fire of pine knots has been kindled
68 Highways and Byways of Florida

in a big iron box on the top of the pilot-house. This
blazes finely, and the light from the resinous yellow
flames advances up the dark sinuosities of the stream
in a manner that is enchantingly mysterious. The
foliage which it touches is magically green, the festoon-
ing mosses are transformed to silvered garlands, the
tree trunks turn to corrugated gold, and the black
slimy stumps become jeweled pillars. When the fire
dies down a little the distant scenery becomes indistinct
and shadowy, and the great trees are pallid and ghostly.
Then fresh knots are thrown in, the fire blazes up, and
again the winding forest walls are brightly lighted
amid the impenetrable surrounding mirk, while every-
thing is reflected in the smooth water.

It is hard enough for the boat to twist and squeeze
herself along the river in broad daylight, and naviga-
tion is doubly difficult at night. Sometimes there is
a scraping of limbs and twigs along the sides of the
vessel, and she halts with a sudden thump. A little
bell tinkles, and the motion of the engine ceases. In
rounding a sharp curve the boat has run her nose
smash into the bank. Then the colored deck hands
get busy with their poles, and push until the bow is
swung out into the stream. Again the wheel turns,
and the little vessel puffs calmly onward. The river
damp wraps all things in grateful coolness, and the
boat glides forward into filmy mists out of which fly
startled birds into the bright light, and after an instant
of illuminated flight vanish into the darkness. Can
Py
EA
4
Zz
E-

 

Voyaging on the Ocklawaha
 

A Cracker’s home
The Saint Johns and the Ocklawaha 69

you wonder that some travelers remain on deck until
morning to enjoy the fascinating revelation of the
marvels of “The Mysterious River” as the vessel
swings on around the curves through the mazes of this
Southern forest?

The last nine miles of the voyage is on Silver Spring
Run, and the change from the dark brown water of the
Ocklawaha to the crystal transparency of the Run is
almost startling. The Run has a white bottom, and,
though very deep, the darting fish and the waterweeds
are revealed with amazing clearness. For much of the
way on either side the shores are grassy levels beyond
which is cypress and oak woodland. The journey ends
in the diminutive lake of Silver Springs. These springs
are one of the wonders of the world. They are the
outlet of an underground river that daily discharges
three hundred million gallons of water, and are con-
tained in a number of limestone basins. The largest
basin is about eighty-five feet deep by two hundred
wide. The water rushes upward through dark fissures
in the rock, keeping the beds of white sand at the bot-
tom of the springs in constant agitation. It is hard
water and not good to drink, but so clear that the
bottom is distinctly visible. If you row out on the lake
you marvel that such an unseeable water can support
anything so substantial as the boat you are in. It
seems more like atmosphere than water, and you fancy
that you could walk about down below and not get
wet. Every pebble and aquatic plant you glide over is
70 Highways and Byways of Florida

invested with prismatic brightness, and a fish near the
bottom will cast a shadow when the sun is shining.

These are the most famous springs in Florida, per-
haps because they are the most accessible, for there
are others that are not unworthy rivals, each with
some charm peculiar to itself that leaves the visitor in
doubt as to which should be ranked first in beauty.
There are five principal openings through which the Sil-
ver Springs issue near the spring head. Others occur
at intervals along the Run. At one of them, known as
“The Boneyard,” about two miles down the stream,
have been discovered the bones of whales and the pet-
rified remains of a marine monster ninety feet long and
five feet in diameter. Along the river are many Indian
mounds that contain ornamental and useful imple-
ments of stone and copper.

Twenty miles west of Ocala is the charming Blue
Spring, three hundred and fifty feet wide. It is sur-
rounded by an amphitheater of bluffs which are cov-
ered with a fine growth of magnolia, hickory, live oak,
and other trees. The stranger who looks into its clear
bluish water from the bank cannot be convinced that
the basin is deeper than three or four feet. A favor-
ite pastime among the newly-arrived is to estimate
the depth, and then paddle out and reach down with
an oar. The actual depth is at least twenty-five feet.
Much of the spring’s peculiar beauty is derived from
the wonderful vegetation that grows in endless variety
of color and form along the rocky dykes and sand-bars
The Saint Johns and the Ocklawaha 71

of the bottom. To float on the invisible water above
those fairy bowers is an experience never to be for-
gotten.

The water flows away in a considerable stream that
can be descended by either steam-launch or row-boat,
six miles, to Dunnellon. The voyage is a series of
surprises. At intervals there are deep rocky chasms
through which volumes of water force their way up-
ward, and other springs burst from the banks. Some
of the latter are utilized to turn water-wheels. The
lower reaches of the stream are bordered by a cypress
swamp, and are frequented by garfish, turtles, and
alligators.
IV

THE EAST COAST AND THE INDIAN RIVER

HE Florida east coast is one of the most note-
worthy of the world’s playgrounds. Thither
go tens of thousands of winter tourists every

year, and thither go a host of families who have built
cottages, mansions, and palaces in which they make
their homes during the colder months. Such dwellings
line the coast almost continuously from one end to the
other.

The chief attraction is climate. The winter is mild,
foggy or rainy days are exceptional, sunshine predom-
inates, and there is sea bathing the year through. Even
the summers are tolerable. They are long, to be sure,
but the heat is not so extreme as one would expect,
and the nights are seldom uncomfortable.

A peculiar feature of the coast is that the mainland
nearly everywhere lies back of salt water lagoons and
a series of narrow islands that protect it from the
ocean’s rude waves and wild winds, and afford for small
craft an inside route of sheltered navigation. One of
the few stretches of coast that abut directly on the
sea is the forty miles between the mouth of the St Johns
River and St. Augustine Inlet. It is an unbroken beach

72
The East Coast and the Indian River 73

forty miles long, backed by scrub-covered sandhills,
and strewn with the wreckage of centuries. For walk-
ing, driving, or automobiling no roadway made by
human hands can excel this superb beach during the
hours when the tide is not at its highest.

But the most famous piece of Florida beach is one
of similar length extending from Matanzas Inlet to
Mosquito Inlet, particularly the southern half beyond
Ormond. It is the hardest, smoothest, broadest beach
imaginable. During the winter it is traversed by motor
vehicles of all kinds, and here the racing cars break the
world’s speed records. It makes an ideal roadway,
and this is renewed twice daily by the outgoing tide.
A peculiar pleasure vehicle used on the beach is the
*“‘sand-sailer.” It resembles an ice yacht on wheels.
The beach is on the ocean side of a narrow peninsula
that is partly clothed with hardwood forest, and partly
with the ordinary beach growth of saw palmetto. On
the other side is a slender shallow arm of the sea about
twenty-five miles long known as the Halifax River.
This is the home of billions of oysters, and on these
the aborigines fed from time immemorial as is evidenced
by the great heaps of shells found along the banks.
Some of the heaps are miniature hills, and even though
shells from the mounds have been employed in making
scores of miles of roadway there has been no applicable
diminution in the supply. Such mounds are distrib-
uted very evenly along the greater length of the eastern
seaboard. The shells are of various sorts, but those
74, Highways and Byways of Florida

of oysters predominate, and mingled sparsely with the
shells are bones of fish and fowl, of turtle, alligator,
and deer.

That charming stream, the Tomoka River, joins
the Halifax at Ormond. It affords a delightful excur-
sion by power launch or by the daily steamer. The
navigable portion winds inland for a dozen miles in
long easy curves between wooded banks whence pal-
mettos and live oaks reach out from the jungle over
the water. An occasional alligator will be sighted on
the shore.

A little below Ormond is another well-known resort
town, Daytona, which stands on a hammock ridge
that averages two miles wide and stretches southerly
for sixty miles.

A short distance south of Mosquito Inlet is New
Smyrna, the oldest settlement on the Atlantic coast
south of St. Augustine. Here are numerous ruins
attributed to the Spaniards, but concerning which
nothing definite is known. Authentic history begins
in 1767 when Dr. Andrew Turnbull, an English gentle-
man of fortune, undertook the task of draining the
low hammocks back of New Smyrna and making their
rich soil fit for cultivation. He organized a syndicate,
procured a grant of sixty thousand acres, and then
sailed to the Mediterranean where he induced a large
number of families, most of them dwellers on the
Spanish island of Minorca, to emigrate to Florida.
In all, the colonists numbered fifteen hundred. Free
The East Coast and the Indian River 75

transportation, good food, and clothing were guaran-
teed, and if any were dissatisfied at the end of six
months they were to be sent home. Those who re-
mained and worked for three years were to receive
fifty acres for each family and twenty-five acres for
each child. The voyage proved long, and many died
on the passage, but the survivors began work courage-
ously. They built palmetto huts for the approaching
winter and planted crops that yielded excellent returns
in early spring. On one of the shell mounds Turnbull
erected his ‘‘castle,” which is said to have been a solid
structure capable of effective defense. As soon as he
made certain that the colony was secure against hun-
ger, he planted indigo. He had three thousand acres
of it in 1772.

Success seemed assured, but the management of
affairs was left to agents who inaugurated a system
of oppression that developed into slavery. Only two
years after the colonists came, there was an insurrection
on account of the severe punishments inflicted, and a
number of the dissatisfied attempted to escape. They
seized several small craft, fitted them out from the
company’s stores, and were about to embark for
Havana when a detachment of English soldiers appeared
and intercepted the flight. The leaders were arrested
and convicted of various alleged crimes. One was
found guilty of shooting a cow, an offense at that time
punishable by death. Altogether five were judged
to merit the death penalty, but two were pardoned,
76 Highways and Byways of Florida

and a third was offered clemency on condition that
he act as executioner. To quote the account of one
of the jurors: “Long and obstinate was the struggle
in this man’s mind. He repeatedly called out that he
chose to die rather than be the executioner of his
friends in distress. At length the entreaties of the
victims themselves encouraged him to act. Now we
beheld a man, thus compelled, take leave of his friends
in the most moving manner, kissing them the moment
before he committed them to an ignominious death.”

By 1776 only six hundred of the colonists were left.
They held secret meetings, and a plan was concocted
for getting relief. Three of the bolder spirits obtained
a leave of absence to catch turtles. But instead they
tramped up the coast, swam Matanzas Inlet, and
reached St. Augustine. There they appealed to the
governor to protect their countrymen if they came
thither. This he agreed to do, and they made their
way back to New Smyrna. The able-bodied men
provided themselves with wooden spears, rations
were packed for three days, and with the women and
children in the center the six hundred began their
march. So secretly was all this managed that they
had proceeded several miles before their departure was
discovered. No attempt was made to forcibly detain
them, and they arrived safely at St. Augustine and
reported to the governor. He had them provided
with food, lands were assigned them, and they were
soon an influential element in the population of the
 

Beside the Halifax River at New Smyrna
 

 

 

An off-look on the Indian River
The East Coast and the Indian River 77

old town. Some returned later to New Smyrna where
their descendants are still to be found.

The drainage canals, half overgrown trenches, and
crumbling ruins of stone sugar mills and indigo vats
are all that now remain of Turnbull’s enterprise. For
nearly a generation the place was abandoned, but at
length a few pioneers made a new start, and by 1835
some degree of prosperity had been attained. Then
came the Seminole War, and the inhabitants were
obliged to seek safety easterly across the Hillsboro
River and see their homes burned behind them. Even
after the war Indian alarms continued so frequent
that in 1860 barely twenty-five families were living
within the present limits of the place.

With the outbreak of the Civil War, Mosquito
Inlet offered a tempting haven for blockade-runners,
and cotton was stored in readiness for them on what
has since been known as the Cotton-shed Hammock.
Two United States gunboats came to the inlet to
break up the rendezvous in March, 1862. A boat
expedition of forty-three men was sent to reconnoiter,
The boats were fired on from an earthwork near the
town, and fifteen of the men were either killed or
wounded. The survivors took to cover on shore and
rejoined their ships after nightfall. This rebuff did not
prevent the destruction of all buildings, wharves, and
the like that would be of service to blockade-runners.

On the Cotton-shed Hammock is a piece of truly
magnificent woodland—live oaks, magnolias, palmettos,
78 Highways and Byways of Florida

sweet gums, maples, and hickories, with here and
there a long-leaved pine overtopping all the rest. This
wood is given a peculiar tropical character, both by
the trees themselves and by the profusion of hanging
moss, ferns, and vines that cling to them. The ferns
completely cover the upper surface of many of the
larger branches, while the huge vines twist about the
trunks or are connected with the tree-tops direct from
the ground. So dense are the growths on some of the
Florida hammocks, that, though seldom of great ex-
tent, one can fancy himself in the midst of limitless
forest. It may be well to explain that the word ham-
mock means land whereon hard wood grows. Such
a growth indicates a soil of greater depth and contain-
ing more humus than that of the flatwoods or pine-
lands, and therefore more suitable for cultivation.

The region offers fine fishing, hunting, boating, and
bathing, and has the added attraction of extensive
orange groves. The ocean beach here is without a break
for one hundred and thirty miles to the south.

Not far below New Smyrna is the north end of the
Indian River, and the distance to Jupiter Inlet, its
other end, is one hundred and¢forty miles. The most
interesting fact about this river is that it is not a river
at all, but a salt-water sound. This sound is super-
latively safe, placid, and beautiful. It varies in width
from scarcely a hundred feet at the Narrows, to eight
miles, and is so straight that when one looks along
it north or south, water and sky seem to meet. On
The East Coast and the Indian River 79

either side it is fringed by points, harbors, coves, and
islands. Near the head of the river are large islands
or peninsulas, and at the St. Lucie and Jupiter narrows
are innumerable small islands covered with an almost
impenetrable growth of mangroves and other tropical
vegetation. It is separated from the ocean by a won-
derfully attenuated strip of land, portions of which are
only a few rods wide, and which rarely exceeds the
width of a mile, and seldom rises to more than twenty
feet above high water mark. This strip is barren in
some places, but for the most part is covered with a
sturdy forest growth that serves as a windbreak to
curb the fierce gales of the Atlantic.

The river is fed by numerous fresh-water streams,
so that though it is connected with the ocean by sev-
eral inlets through which the tides ebb and flow, it is
much less salt than the open sea. Not all the inlets
are permanent. A number have opened within the
memory of persons now living, and then, after a while,
have closed.

Every house along the river has its own pier, and
every family possesses some sort of water craft. ‘There
are sailing vessels in great variety, and power boats
from tiny open launches to ambitious cabined steam
yachts. The river is a great highway for the dwellers
on its banks.

The mainland which borders this “streak of silver
sea” is notably well suited for residence sites, and the
soil is unsurpassed for the cultivation of citrus fruits
80 Highways and Byways of Florida

and pineapples. The pineapples hide the earth on the
ridge next to the river for miles and miles with their
prickly green leaves. In places the plants are under
slatted sheds acres in extent. They grow from two to
four feet high and each produces a single fruit amid
a whorl of long stiff rough-edged sword-shaped leaves.
The pineapple is a native of tropical America and is
found wild in sandy maritime districts of northeastern
South America. Great care is requisite in its cultiva-
tion to produce fruit that is delicate and richly flavored.
Without such care it is insipid and fibrous.

The fertile belt skirting the river is comparatively
narrow, and much of the country beyond is wilderness
haunted by bears, panthers, wild cats, and deer, and
by wild turkeys and the lesser varieties of wild-fowl.
It is a swampy wilderness containing many streams
and shallow lakes navigable for canoes.

When the turtles lay their eggs in the seashore sands
in the spring of the year the bears resort to the beaches
and devour the eggs with great gusto. Bruin will even
swim across the Indian River to get at the eggs on the
island shore beyond. Only the desire for these eggs
will tempt the bears to venture from their hiding-places
back inland, or from the almost impenetrable labyrinths
of the mangrove islands. ‘The bears have long ago
learned that a man with a gun is dangerous, and they
have become exceedingly shy and retiring. If the hun-
ter wants bears he has to go after them, for they have
no fancy to go after the hunter. Even when tempted
 

Spanish bayonets
 

At Palm Beach on the shore of Lake Worth
The East Coast and the Indian River 81

out of their wild haunts by turtle eggs they visit the
shore by night and with such caution that they are
seldom seen.

| Eatable fish in great variety abound in the river,
and there are oysters and clams, shrimp, and turtle.
Besides, excellent bream and black bass fishing is to
be had in the fresh water streams that enter the river
from the mainland. The Florida cruiser need never
go hungry, even when his supply of “boughten grub”
fails, if only he has the knowledge and skill to help
himself from nature’s largess.

An expedition in a small boat after dark is particularly
enjoyable. The water is usually highly phosphores-
cent then, and at times the display of nature’s fireworks
is quite wonderful. Multitudes of fish dash against
the boat, and sometimes leap over or into it in frantic
efforts to escape.

Oysters cover a considerable portion of the river
bottom, and though they are often small they are un-
surpassed in quality. In some places along the banks
are enormous piles of the oyster shells deposited there
by the Indians, who, whatever their faults, have at least
given the Florida peninsula a few hills. How they must
have feasted to leave such heaps of shells behind them!
The red men are gone, but the oyster-beds remain, and
if the winter refugees continue to flock to the region and
to eat oysters freely, in the course of time the vicinity
of the resorts will become a fine mountainous country.
Meanwhile tourists and residents must find what com-
82 Highways and Byways of Florida

fort they can in such hills as the good appetite of their
predecessors have already furnished.

The climate along the river from October to May is
a perpetual Indian summer, seldom interrupted by
storms; and most of the time there is a gentle breeze
coming inland from the even tempered waters of the
Gulf Stream. One proof offered of the winter bland-
ness of the air is that frequenters of the region, both
male and female, sometimes bathe the old year out and
the new year in.

It is a delight merely to view the river from the shore.
As you look off across the blue water from the mainland
you see the islands dim in dreamy haze on the other
side. Schools of fishes flash their silvery sides to the
sun in the shallows; farther out frolicsome mullet leap
high into the air and fall back with a resounding splash;
herons large and small stand and meditate in or near
the water; and cormorants, black and ungainly, sit on
piles of abandoned docks for hours motionless, or, if
one makes a plunge for a fish, he promptly flops back
to his perch. During the winter the river is a resort
for innumerable ducks. In places the surface is fairly
covered by them, and a boat voyaging on the river will
make flocks rise from the water every few hundred
yards to travel off and settle down elsewhere. The peli-
can, with its big bill, awkward figure, and voracious
appetite, is a familiar bird here, but lacks one essential
attraction for the sportsman—its flesh is too tough and
the taste too rank to be eatable.
The East Coast and the Indian River 83

One of the curious inhabitants of the waters, especially
near the mouth of the St. Lucie River, is the manatee
or sea cow. It has in part the character of a fish, and
in part that of a land animal. It is warm-blooded and
suckles its young, and yet lives in the water, though
obliged to come to the surface every few minutes to
breath. This necessity is apt to prove its undoing when
a hunter is in pursuit. A full sized one is a monstrous
ungainly creature that measures a dozen feet in length
and weighs over a ton. It is seldom found except in or
near the rivers that indent the southern coast. The
vegetation that grows in the streams is its food.

You may sometimes hear beneath the water a strange
low thumping sound as of the beating of a muffled drum.
It is the love-song of the drum fish. These fish feed on
young oysters, cockles, and crabs. They travel in
schools, and several hundred of them can do an amazing
amount of damage to an oyster bed. Some of them
weigh as much as seventy pounds, although a third
of that is more usual.

In the northern part of the river is Merritts Island,
forty miles long and, at its upper end, six or seven miles
broad. The country on the island has the appearance
of a park, the timber bring principally scattered pines
interspersed with an occasional forest of palmetto, or of
live oak and other hardwood timber. The island con-
tains some of the finest and oldest of Florida orange
groves.

Over on the opposite mainland is Titusville, of which
84 Highways and Byways of Florida

a tourist records that the following romantic and uncon-
ventional custom of hunting prevailed as recently as
1890. Every night while he was there the proprietor of
one of the largest hotels, and other sensible business men,
sallied out with conch horn and dogs to pursue possums
in the neighboring pine woods. They started from the
center of the town, and as they went on toward the
outskirts the party was constantly receiving fresh re-
cruits, who brought with them more dogs and horns,
and ere long the air was thrilled with the blasts they
blew as they struck the trail of a possum.

A place farther down the Indian River with a char-
acter of its own is Rockledge. The appropriateness of
the name is evident when one observes that the shore
for three or four miles is coralline rock that rises ab-
ruptly to a height of from six to twelve feet.

One of the most charming streams of this vicinity
is the St. Lucie River with its abounding palmettos.
Many of these trees are close to the water’s edge, and
some have lopped down till they are half submerged and
furnish ideal places for rows of turtles to sun them-
selves. There the turtles sit in solemn silence, but
when a boat comes along they plunge beneath the
surface with much splashing.

The finest fishing on the coast is to be had at Jupiter
Inlet. The beach on either side of the inlet is strewn
with sun-dried sponges, sea-beans, cocoanuts, and nu-
merous strange forms of animal and vegetable life
brought from the tropic seas by the Gulf Stream,
The East Coast and the Indian River 85

whose dark waters may be seen a few miles off shore.
The floating treasures are deflected to the coast by
easterly gales. In this vicinity is an oyster shell mound
forty feet high and a quarter of a mile long. During
the Civil War adventurous blockade runners that passed
out through Jupiter Inlet made flying trips to the Bur-
mudas and the West Indies Islands. The safety with
which they went and came was largely due to the fact
that they had their own code of signals arranged with
the inlet lighthouse people.

The next slender coast lagoon beyond the Indian
River is Lake Worth, twenty-two miles long, and with
an average width of a mile. It is connected with the
ocean by a single shallow inlet. The normal winter
temperature of the vicinity is about seventy-five de-
grees. The eastern shore is the favored garden region
of the lake, for it is protected from ocean gales by the
heavily wooded peninsula, and the marvelously rich
soil fosters the growth of fruits, flowers, and vege-
tables. From nearly every house here a walk or trail
leads across the ridge to the ocean beach, where a mag-
nificent warm surf comes rushing in from the Gulf
Stream laden with shells and marine curiosities that
tempt collectors to wander for miles along the sands
searching for treasures. After an easterly storm the
beach is sure to be particularly interesting in its accumu-
lation of waifs and wreckage.

Palm Beach, the best known of all Florida resorts,
is on this sandy peninsula, which only a few years ago
86 Highways and Byways of Florida

was an almost barren waste. Now Palm Beach is a
national institution with a reputation that is world-
wide. It is often called the “millionares’ playground.”
Here is the largest hotel for tourists in existence, six
stories high, and nearly a fifth of a mile long, with ac-
commodation for two thousand people. One of the hotel’s
features is a corridor lined with fashionable shops. The
people who throng it include not only those from every
part of our own country, but, in normal times, many for-
eign diplomats and persons of wealth from abroad.
Palm Beach is a gem in a jungle. There are those,
however, to whom the jungle is the gem rather than
what man’s imagination and labor have produced in a
fashionable resort. Wilderness merging into the Ever-
glades begins to the westward almost with the lake
shore, and large game is found throughout the region.
The Palm Beach that human ingenuity has brought
into being is a tropical paradise. Unlimited wealth has
conveyed thither warm-climate trees and shrubs from
the ends of the earth and set them in bewildering pro-
fusion. In January, 1879, a Spanish bark was cast away
on the coast, and her cargo of cocoanuts was distributed
by the waves for miles up and down the beach. Thou-
sands of the nuts were picked up and planted with the
hope, rather than the expectation, that they would grow.
The planting consisted of laying the nuts on the ground
in rows, in circles, singly and in groups, with the result
that now the cocoa palm trees lift their graceful fronds
above every roof, and line the walks and avenues of the
The East Coast and the Indian River 87

entire vicinity with the gray columns of their trunks,
and stand in stately swaying rows along the shore.
Of all the alien trees they are the most distinguished.
At maturity a tree will bear two hundred nuts a year.
The ungarnered nuts strew the ground and you can pick
up one when you choose, beat off the husk, bore a
hole in the one soft spot at the stem end of the shell,
and drink the cool delicious milk. Young fruit is con-
stantly starting, and nuts are coming to maturity and
falling all through the year.

Palm Beach is essentially a society resort, and practi-
cally all the social activities are out of doors. The offi-
cial day begins at eleven, when a multitude of people
assemble on the beach, and everywhere are color and
movement. The whirl of gayety continues until late
in the night. The three months from New Years to
April are the height of the season.

One of the institutions of the place is the Beach Club,
famous for its restaurant, but principally for its gam-
bling. No man under twenty-five is admitted to mem-
bership, and occasionally a person of great wealth, whom
you would naturally expect to be welcomed, is rejected;
but an action of this kind now and then only makes
the demand for admission more insistent.

The chief place south of Palm Beach is the “Magic
City,” Maimi, at the mouth of a little river of the same
name that flows down to the sea from the Everglades.
It is on the site of old Fort Dallas, which was a consid-
erable military post in the Seminole War, established
88 Highways and Byways of Florida

in 1838 and abandoned twenty years later. Miami con-
sisted of several houses and a store in 1895. The store
was essentially an Indian trading station where the Sem-
inoles bartered alligator hides and such other trophies
of their rifles as were not needed for home consumption.
It was not uncommon to have two or three canoes
moored to the wharf with an indefinite number of
squaws and papooses on board together with a supply
of fresh meat in the shape of turtles and a live pig or
two. The river can be ascended in small boats to its
outlet from the Everglades, about six miles from
where it enters Biscayne Bay.

The bay is a lagoon protected from the ocean by nu-
merous coralislands. A twoanda half mile mile bridge,
the longest roadway bridge in the world, connects Miami
Beach with the mainland.

Occasional stretches of beach along the bay afford
good walking. On one of these beaches, about a dozen
miles south of Miami and a half mile north of Shoal
Point, is a bed of “singing sand” that, emits a musical
sound under foot. Another marvel of the bay is a spring
of fresh water that wells up off the southeast coast from
the salty ocean. All that a thirsty mariner has to do
to supply himself and his companions with drinking
water, is to dip it up at this spot.
V

KEY WEST AND ITS SEA-GOING RAILWAY

States. One is along the Colorado River in

the neighborhood of Yuma; another is in that
part of Texas near the mouth of the Rio Grande;
and the third, which is by far the most extensive and
attractive, is the southernmost section of Florida. Es-
pecially tropical are the islands which extend in a
curved line to Key West and beyond for two hundred
miles through the warm waters of the Gulf Stream.
These islands, or keys as they are called, are protected
from the rudeness of the ocean by a line of reefs, which
come close to the surface and break the force of the
waves. The reefs are exceedingly dangerous to ship-
ping, but Hawk Channel, the stretch of water between
them and the keys, is the most ideal sailing ground for
pleasure craft imaginable.

The islands and adjacent reefs are primarily the
work of tiny soft-bodied polyps. The lime the polyps
secrete forms a part of their persons, and is a kind of
skeleton which they outgrow and leave behind in the
shape of solid coral. In former ages these creatures
worked far to the north of their present habitat. Now

89

[Msc are three tropical regions in the United
go Highways and Byways of Florida

they are found in Florida only at the edge of the Gulf
Stream. There they are still extracting lime from the
sea-water, and covering the ocean bed with a forest of
branches in which all sorts of sea plants and animals
become entangled and in the course of time are en-
tombed. The workers stop building only when they
reach the sea-level at low tide, and then the ocean
piles up broken coral and other loose material on the
reef. Some day a mangrove seedling drifts into the
shallows and finds lodgment when the tide falls. Be-
fore next high water its rootlets have anchored it by
penetrating the crevices of the lime rock prepared
by the coral polyps. Other mangrove seedlings fol-
low this pioneer, and in a few years the bare reef be-
comes a mangrove key, collecting the flotsam and.
jetsam of the ocean to form habitable land. When the
mangroves can no longer reach salt water they die and
add their quota to the rich top-dressing of the coral.
After that the winds and tides and currents bring
cocoanuts, pine cones, acorns, and the like. Thus, in
the course of time, the key is covered with vegetation
and is ready to be made the home of human beings.
It is estimated that solid coral will build up at the rate
of six inches a century. Another six inches will be
added on exposed reefs in accumulations of material
contributed by the ocean. Therefore the present outer
reef, which is in water about seventy feet deep, has
been seven thousand years in building.

The keys are always highest on the seaward side,
Key West and its Sea-Going Railway 91

and slope gradually toward the mainland. This sur-
face is generally less than ten feet above sea-level.
Many of them are awash when there is a high spring
tide, or a strong wind setting shoreward. Others, how-
ever, are capable of cultivation and make delightful
sites for winter residences, well south of the frost line,
and readily accessible. The surface is mostly coral
rock, but in the hollows are patches of rich red soil
and humus, in which fruits and vegetables grow with
great luxuriance. Fully fifty of the islands are at
present inhabited and productive. Many delect-
able things grow on the keys, but so do the weeds. One
of the worst of these weeds is the grapevines. Unless
a planter is industrious in fighting the predatory
growths his plantation is soon overrun by their
ravenous hordes.

Along the ocean side shore are coral sand, masses
of broken coral fingers, shells, sponges, and drift ma-
terial which has been carried hundreds of miles from
the coasts of South and Central America. Floating
islands from the mouths of tropical rivers are one of
the strange things that drift to the keys, to be dashed
to bits there by the waves and piled up on the shore.
The varied flotage, including lumber and wreckage,
often makes beach combing a very interesting and
profitable employment.

The natives of the keys came from England by way
of the Bahamas. They are called “‘Conchs.” In the
main they devote themselves to wrecking, sponging,
92 Highways and Byways of Florida

and fishing. When there is nothing doing on the sea
they cut hardwood timber on a patch of land, and burn
it. Then they plant pineapples. No fertilizer is used,
and after a few years the field is abandoned and al-
lowed to grow up again to forest. Few of the keys
have roads. The people visit and go to school and to
church in boats. They are very pious, but religious
services are postponed if a wreck offers opportunity
for profit.

Within a few years after Columbus made his first
voyage across the Atlantic the Florida Keys began to
levy tribute on European commerce. The inclination
of the exposed trees on them shows the commonness
of high winds; and so intricate are their channels, and
so powerful the sweep of currents among them, that
the long line of coral islands, rocks, and reefs soon
earned the name of “The Martyrs.” 'They keep up
their reputation to this day, in spite of the lighthouses
and beacons that now mark the channel from Biscayne
Bay to the Dry Tortugas. The navigable channels
and safe harbors among the islands were well known
to the old-time pirates and freebooters. It is popularly
supposed that the fishermen, spongers, and wreckers
of to-day are also pirates when opportunity favors,
and that they employ cruel and cowardly methods to
lure vessels to the dreaded reefs that they may plunder
the cargoes and rob the crews and passengers; but,
though there are doubtless desperate characters among
them, they have a wholesome fear of the revenue
Key West and its Sea-Going Railway 93

service, and really do good work in saving the cargoes
of stranded ships, and sometimes in floating off the
vessels. When a ship runs ashore, the Conchs for miles
around know of it in a mysteriously short time. If
the ship is large she is soon surrounded by a solid mass
of white-winged wreckers.

One of the West Indian hurricanes has been known
to drive ashore no less than three hundred craft big
and small. A certain wrecking-master of Key West
has realized as much as a thousand dollars a day for
a period of more than two weeks for his attentions to
a wreck. Over half the wealth of that place is said to
come directly or indirectly from wrecks.

Key Largo, the largest of the keys, is thirty miles
long, and from a quarter of a mile to two miles wide.
Mahogany grows in the thick tropical jungle on the
island as common as maple in New York state. One
peculiar tree found here is the gumbo-limbo, which
will sprout after being cut into fence posts and produce
vigorous trees. The houses of the natives are on the
ocean side. Around them are fields of pineapples,
groves of limes, and numerous cocoanut palms and
banana plants.

The banana plant came originally from southern
Asia, and was probably brought to America soon after
the days of Columbus. It is a marvel in its prolific
bearing. The fruit is very nutritious, and in some
countries is the chief article of food for whole popu-
lations. It has been estimated that land sufficient to
94 Highways and Byways of Florida

grow wheat enough to feed one man would feed five
men if devoted to bananas. A plant produces only
one bunch of fruit, but there are sometimes as many
three hundred bananas in a single bunch. No wonder
then, that a West Indian negro with a patch of ba-
nanas no larger than a dooryard is content to live in
idleness. The soft but tree-like stalk grows to a height
of from ten to thirty feet, and some of the broad shining
green leaves are two or three yards long. The plants
put forth their first blossoms when not much more
than a year old. After fruiting, the stem is cut down,
but new stems sprout up from the roots. The plants
will bear a slight frost, and they are occasionally culti-
vated as far north as Jacksonville.

In summer, when the fragrant limes are ready to
pick on the keys, the mosquitoes are present in such
numbers and with such a ravenous appetite for blood
as language is inadequate to describe. They come by
millions out of every crevice in the rocks, out of the
ground, and out of mudholes and stagnant pools.
When they become unbearable, the native men and
women put their children, dogs, and chickens on their
boats and move off to sea.

Long Key calls for special mention because of its
fame as a fishing resort. Everybody there is interested
in fishing, and that sport is the leading topic of conver-
sation. Each evening they gather at the docks to in-
spect the catches as the boats return, and to hear the
stories of the day’s experience. All the fish are weighed
Key West and its Sea-Going Railway 95

as they are unloaded to see whose catch is the largest,
and afterward the names of the men who made the
best catches are posted on a bulletin board.

The animal life of the keys and the waters in their
vicinity is wonderfully varied and interesting. Fish
abound, from the sea monsters that weigh hundreds
of pounds down to the delicate and beautiful angel-
fish and the many-colored dwellers among the man-
grove roots. Turtles are taken in large numbers, many
water-fowl nest along shore, and bears, wild cats, deer,
and turkeys haunt the wooded keys.

It is of interest to note that on a trip from New York
to the keys by rail the traveler is only two-thirds of
the distance when he reaches Jacksonville. The journey
from Miami to Key West is by the world’s first sea-
going railway, one hundred and fifty miles long, which
cost upward of one hundred thousand dollars a mile.
It.skirts along the coast for twenty-eight miles below
Miami, before it leaves land solid enough to be called
mainland. Fully seventy-five miles of the track the
rest of the way are over the water. The islands that
.are utilized by the railroad number about thirty. They
may be called a series of stepping-stones. The longest
stretch of track on any one island is sixteen miles on
Key Largo. Whenever the water between islands was
sufficiently shallow they have been united by rock
abutments. Across the channels that were deep or
exposed to storms arched concrete viaducts were built,
or steel bridges resting on concrete piers, which are
96 Highways and Byways of Florida

firmly anchored to the bed rock. Some of the water
spanned has a depth of more than thirty feet, and the
traveler has the unique sensation of voyaging over
ocean waves in a swift railway coach. The longest
viaduct is seven miles between Knights Key and Little
Duck Key.

While the road was being built the problem of feed-
ing and housing the laborers was solved by establishing
camps on the keys, and by constructing numerous
floating dormitories which were moved forward along
with the dredges, pile-drivers and other machinery.
The road was begun in 1905, and the next year in
October came a great hurricane that cost the lives of
one hundred and thirty men. One of the two-story
floating dormitories was torn from its moorings at
Long Key, driven across the Hawk Channel, and
smashed on a reef. Of the one hundred and forty-five
men in it eighty-seven were picked up clinging to bits
of wreckage. But this disaster did not prevent work
being resumed as soon as the sea was calm. The first
through train reached Key West in January, 1912, and
went on by the huge car ferry that conveys trains
direct to the Cuban capital, Havana, ninety miles
distant.

Key West is eight hundred and fifty miles nearer the
equator than Los Angeles, and one hundred miles
nearer the equator than the southernmost part of
Texas. It has twenty-five thousand inhabitants,
mostly Cubans and negroes. Spanish is heard on the
doapivy 3U105-vag 2y7 fo Sinpore ayy fo 2ugQ)

i

 
 

A remarkable wild fig tree at Key West
Key West and its Sea-Going Railway 97

streets more than English, and Spanish names are seen
above many of the stores. The city is on a small island
of the same name, commanding the entrance to the
Gulf of Mexico, and has been called ‘America’s
Gibralter.” The words Key West are a crude English
pronunciation of the Spanish name for the island—
Cayo Hueso. Thisname means Bone Island. Accord-
ing to tradition, the native tribes inhabiting the keys
were gradually driven from one island to another by a
more powerful mainland tribe until they were nearly
exterminated in a final battle on Key West. The few
survivors escaped to Cuba. The abundance of human
bones found on the island when it was first discovered
suggested its name and gave color to the story.

In 1846 the island was swept by a terrible hurricane,
accompanied by an extraordinarily high tide. The sea
rose ten feet above its usual level.

During the war with Mexico, Key West was brought
into prominence as a military and naval station, and
permanent fortifications were begun.

When Florida seceded from the Union the local
Secessionists attempted to seize the place, but the
commander of the fort, who had a few regulars under
him, organized the workmen employed there, accepted
the services of a company of citizen volunteers, and
defied the Secessionists until reinforcements arrived.

The islanders were insignificant in number until
1869, when an attempted revolution in Cuba caused
a migration that soon made Key West a busy manu-
98 Highways and Byways of Florida

facturing place. Cigar-making there dates back to
1831, but for a.long time the business made slow prog-
ress. This influx of Cuban refugees stimulated it to
an enormous extent, and it now employs many thou-
sands. of persons.

In March, 1886, Key West was nearly destroyed by
a fire that lasted two days.

The island contains about one thousand acres. It
is four and a half miles long and one mile wide. Its
climate approaches very closely that of the tropics.
The lowest recorded temperature is forty-one degrees.
Everywhere along the streets and in the gardens are
bananas; palms, and scores of other tropical growths.
Notable among these is a banyan tree at the old gov-
ernment barracks. This is the only tree of the species
growing out of doors in the United States. The banyan
is remarkable for the shoots it sends down from its
branches. These root and become stems, and the tree
spreads in this manner over a great surface and may
endure for ages. A big banyan tree in India has no
less than three hundred and fifty stems equal to large
oak trunks, and more than three thousand smaller
ones.

Though without sewers, paving, or street-cleaning,
Key West is serenely healthful, thanks to the winds
and the cleansing tides. The streets are dusty, and the
houses are a promiscuous jumble of mansions and
hovels of all sizes, generally built of wood. They
might be hopelessly commonplace were it not for their
qwog asuods v surpsiev yy

sIayjJOlg umorg Aq o1cygd

 
 

in Key West

A street
Key West and its Sea-Going Railway 99

verandas and balconies. All roads quickly lead to the
verge of the island, where you get the full benefit of the
ever-blowing trade-winds and an outlook over the
tropic sea. There is no public supply of water, and
much of what is used is brought from the mainland by
long trains of tank cars. Most houses on the other
keys have cisterns, and rain water or distilled water is
the chief dependence for drinking purposes.

Key West has long been an important military and
naval base, and has a harbor large enough to accom-
modate the entire fleet of the United States navy.
One of the attractions of the place is the fish wharves
with their bright-colored tropical fish. A fish that is
particularly common on the docks is what is known as
the “grunt,” a name derived from the fact that it:
grunts like a young pig when pulled out of the water.
It is a small fish whose gaping mouth is orange within,
and its tail the same color. Underneath it is white,
its back is bronze, and the rest of it is light blue with
numerous streaks and spots of other tints. “Grits and
grunts” are the favorite foods of many of the Key
Westers. At the fish market the fish are kept alive in
tanks of water. When a buyer makes his selection,
the dealer scoops out the fish with a net and prepares
it for the frying-pan.

Adjoining the fish dock is the turtle dock, where
turtles weighing two or three hundred pounds awaiting
shipment are not uncommon. They are shipped alive,
reposing on their backs with their flappers tied. Some
100 Highways and Byways of Florida

of the largest, which weigh half a ton, are said to be
several hundred years old.

At another important wharf sponges are landed
by the one hundred and fifty vessels of the sponge
fleet, which are constantly coming and going. The
vessels are mostly small schooners. Key West is a
central market and shipping point for sponges, which
are taken all along the reefs and far up the Gulf coast.
The sponge production of American waters now greatly
surpasses that of the Mediterranean, and most of the
American sponge comes from either Florida or Cuba.
Some sponges are secured by simply wading out in the
shallows and pulling up the growths by hand. Others
are obtained by going after them in boats and tearing
them loose from their moorings on the rocky bottom
by means of a two-tined hook. It is possible to hook
them up from a depth of forty or fifty feet. But these
ways of getting them have largely been abandoned for
diving. The little sailing vessels generally carry a crew
of eight. Two of the crew are divers who work alter-
nately, and two are pumpers for the air apparatus.
A diver can get sponges at greater depths than by the
old methods and in much rougher water. He carries
along a mesh bag for his catch, and this is hauled to the
surface when filled. The greatest danger to which he
is exposed is the man-eating sharks.

The sponges as brought to the surface are black and
slimy, and contain much animal matter called “gurry.”
When the vessels unload, the curing process begins at
 

On Loggerhead Key, Dry Tortugas
 

 

 

Young mangroves growing in u shoal near one of the Florida keys
Key West and its Sea-Going Railway 101

once. For several days the sponges are kept in pans
of shallow water through which the tides flow and wash
away the gurry as it decomposes. Afterward they are
further cleansed by being squeezed and beaten. Then
they are dried and sorted and arranged in piles for the
inspection of buyers. They are usually sold to the
highest bidder by the pile. To keep up the supply the
government has limited the divers’ fishing season, and
has propagated sponges by placing cuttings in new
waters. A six-inch sponge will develop in from two
to four years.

The countless mangrove islands in the vicinity of
Key West afford an inexhaustible field of exploration,
and very good sport may be had with a fish-spear or
net among the mangrove roots where all kinds of ma-
rine creatures seek a refuge. With a little practice the
spearman can walk on the projecting roots and watch
for an opportunity to strike his game in the shoal
water below.

South of Key West is Sand Key, a small island
which is nearer the tropics than any other point in the
United States. A lighthouse is located on it. Farther
west are two other little groups of islands, the more
remote of which is the Dry Tortugas, seventy miles
from Key West. Tortugas is Spanish for turtles, and
the name refers to the abundance of these creatures
and the dearth of fresh water there. This romantic
group of ten small islands was discovered and named
by Ponce de Leon in 1513. On one of the islands his
102 Highways and Byways of Florida

sailors, in the course of a single night, caught one hun-
dred and seventy turtles, and might have taken many
more. ‘The most conspicuous object seen by the ap-
proaching voyager is Fort Jefferson, a massive brick
structure begun in 1846 and used as a military prison
during the Civil War. It has since been neglected and
become dilapidated. The only inhabitants of the
islands in recent years have been the army sergeant in
charge, and the lighthouse keeper on Logger-head Key.
There is a fine sheltered anchorage near the crumbling
fortress, but it is visited only by spongers, fishermen,
and wreckers, and by occasional government supply
ships.
VI

' TALLAHASSEE AND NORTHWESTERN FLORIDA

take the exploration of Florida was Panfilo
de Narvaez, who has been described by a
contemporary as “a tall one-eyed man, with a voice
deep and sonorous as though it came from a cavern.”
He sailed from Spain commissioned by the king to
conquer and govern a province in the New World,
and arrived with a company of four hundred armed
men and eighty horses at one of the bays on the south-
west Florida coast April 14, 1529. On the following
day he landed. The Indians, who had a village in the
vicinity, gave him a friendly reception, and he issued
a proclamation to them announcing that the whole
world belonged to the king and queen of Spain so that
the Indians were their subjects. ‘The proclamation
continued in these words: “‘You will be compelled to
accept Christianity. If you delay agreeing to what
I have proposed, I will make war on you from all
sides; I will obtain possession of your wives and chil-
dren; I will reduce you to slavery.”
This did not suit the Indians. They refused to
submit to such arrogance, and hostilities followed in

which the Spaniards were as barbarous as the natives.
103

T= next person after Ponce de Leon to under-
104 Highways and Byways of Florida

The soldiers were sick of the sea, and it was decided
that while one hundred men sailed northward in the
vessels the remainder should take the horses and pro-
ceed along the coast. For fifteen days the land force
wandered through the wilderness without seeing a
person or a human habitation. Their scanty supply
of provisions was exhausted, and they were in desper-
ate need of food. Then they encountered some In-
dians, who told them of a village in the interior called
Apalachee, and thither they went. The place proved
to be a hamlet of forty thatched cabins where they
could obtain no adequate supply of provisions. So
they presently resumed their journey, constantly beset
by Indians, who discharged showers of arrows from
ambush. ‘They declared that their assailants were
exceedingly powerful and of gigantic stature, and that
they discharged their arrows from bows that were
eight feet in length.

By midsummer the Spaniards arrived at the Bay of
St. Marks, where they secured an abundance of fish
and oysters; but the weather was very hot, and many
of them began to be prostrated with tropical fevers.
No gold had been discovered, and their lot had been
one of unvarying hardship. Where their vessels were
they know not, and after continuing a considerable
distance farther along the coast they decided to build
boats in which to get away. There were no ship car-
penters among them, and they lacked tools and iron,
tow and rigging. But a smith of the company con-
Tallahassee and Northwestern Florida 105

structed bellows from deer-skins, and made nails, saws,
axes, and other implements from stirrups, spurs, cross-
bows, and whatever things they possessed that had
iron in them. Timber was cut and hewed into shape,
sails were contrived from clothing, cordage from the
fiber of the palmetto and from the tails and manes of
horses. By skinning the horses’ legs entire, recepta-
cles were made for water. Oars were fashioned from
cedars. Every third day a horse was killed and its
flesh eaten by those who worked building the boats
and those who were sick. Forays into the neighboring
country secured a few bushels of maize, though not
without quarrels and conflicts with the Indians. Par-
ties who went gathering shell-fish in the coves and
creeks within sight of the camp were twice attacked
by the savages, who slew ten of the men.

In a few weeks five boats were completed, each
thirty-three feet long, and on the 22d of September a
voyage was begun. About fifty men embarked in
each boat. They were so crowded they could hardly
move, and their weight and that of their supplies
brought the gunwales to within six inches of the water.
Their boats were probably launched on Choctawhatchee
Bay. ‘Thence they went on by way of Santa Rosa
Inlet with the purpose to keep along the coast to Mex-
ico. They often had to wade and push their boats in
the shallow water, and they suffered much from the
Indians and from cold, disease, famine, thirst, and the
fury of the waves.
106 Highways and Byways of Florida

Two of their boats were lost before they were out
of Santa Rosa Inlet, and a third was wrecked near
Pensacola Bay. So desperate was their lack of food
that they lived for a time on the bodies of those who
died. One night, when all the men who belonged on
the governor’s boat had gone on shore, except De
Narvaez himself, the coxswain, and a boy, a storm
drove the boat to sea at midnight, and nothing more
was ever heard of the three who were on it. In the
end only five members of the expedition got back to
civilization, and one of these was held a half dozen
years as a slave by the Indians. Nor would he have
been spared had it not been that he had a slight knowl-
edge of the healing art which resulted in his being in-
stalled as a great medicine man.

The oldest place in the northwest section of the state
is Pensacola. Indeed, among all of Florida towns
it ranks second only to St. Augustine in hoary antiq-
uity. Probably the first European crew to sail into
its magnificent sunlit bay was that of a Spanish pilot
who came thither in 1516, traded off his cargo of trinkets
to the natives for silver and gold, and returned peace-
fully to Cuba. Other Spanish vessels visited the coast
from time to time, and in 1696 the beginnings of a
permanent settlement were made and a fort built on
the mainland at the entrance to the bay, but the
French destroyed everything in 1719. ‘Three years
later the Spaniards rebuilt the town on Santa Rosa
Island near where Fort Pickens now stands. They
Tallahassee and Northwestern Florida 107

had there a stockaded fort, a government building, a
church, and thirty or more lessor structures, all of
which were swept away in 1754 by a hurricane in con-
junction with a high tide, and many of the inhabitants
lost their lives. The survivors settled on the northern
shore of its bay, the site of the present city.

When Florida was transferred to English sovereignty
in 1763 most of the Spanish in Pensacola removed
to Mexico. The place as found by the English con-
sisted of a village of forty huts thatched with palmetto
leaves, and the barracks for a small garrison, round-
about all of which was a stockade of pine posts. The
country was uncultivated. Indians were numerous,
and within a few days the newcomers were visited by
two hundred of them of five different nations.

Settlers began to flow in, and they brought slaves.
A small fort was erected, and the surrounding forest
began to give way to smiling gardens. Trade devel-
oped with the Indians as far away as Tennessee.
Pack horses went out in all directions carrying goods
to distant tribes and bringing back skins, honey, and
dried venison. One driver usually served for ten
animals, and from five to ten drivers were likely to
travel together. They were generally brave and jolly
fellows whose visits were welcomed.

When Florida again came under Spanish domina-
tion the prestige and prosperity of Pensacola waned.
The Spaniards were somewhat hostile to the Americans
in the War of 1812, and the British were permitted
108 Highways and Byways of Florida

to make Pensacola harbor a rendezvous for a fleet,
and the town a base of supplies for hostile Indians.
So in November, 1812, ‘‘Old Hickory” marched there
and captured the place by storm. The Spanish com-
mander had gotten away by water, and with some
British troops and friendly Indians proceeded a short
way up the Apalachicola River and constructed a fort
on a bordering bluff that jutted out into the river from
the east side. This fort was intended to be used as a
base of operations from which the neighboring border
might be depredated. After the war the British troops
left the fort, but a negro named Garcia retained pos-
session of it, with other negroes under his leadership
for a garrison, and it became a strong center of defense
to the large colony of runaway slaves who had settled
along the river. The walls were fifteen feet high and
eighteen broad. There was a swamp behind it and
creeks above and below. It had nine cannon, three
thousand small arms, and an amply-stored magazine.
In 1816 American troops attacked it, aided by a large
body of Creek Indians who were led by Mad-Tiger
and other chiefs. The fort was defended by about
one hundred effective men, including twenty-five
Choctaws, and besides it sheltered over two hundred
women and children. A battle was fought, and the
task of capturing the fort would have proved a trouble-
some piece of work had not a lucky hot shot from a
United States gunboat exploded the stronghold’s
magazine. This caused great slaughter and demoraliza-
20q
Ig 0 sx
uw,
vjoovs

©
Iq
TId HO.

rsh

"OD 3u

 
 

Washing in the yard
Tallahassee and Northwestern Florida 109

tion among the defenders and broke their resistance.
The attackers suffered no loss whatever. Garcia and a
Choctaw chief were executed after the surrender, and
the runaway negroes were sent back to slavery. Prop-
erty with a value of two hundred thousand dollars
is said to have been recovered in the fort.

Pensacola continued to be a rallying place for fili-
busters, runaway slaves, and British agents, and
General Andrew Jackson captured the town for a
second time in 1818.

After Florida was acquired by the United States
the fine harbor at Pensacola was made an important
naval station, and the place became one of the leading
seaports on our Gulf coast. On the morning of Jan-
uary 12, 1861, the surrender of the navy yard was
demanded by Colonel Chase with a force of twelve
hundred Confederates. ‘The Union commander ca-
pitulated, for effective resistance was impossible. The
few men stationed at the yard were mustered near the
flagstaff when the Confederates marched in. William
Conway, a seaman grown old in the government serv-
ice, was ordered by a Union lieutenant to haul down
the flag in token of surrender. The habit of obedience
is strong in a man-of-war’s man, but Conway used
tolerably rough language toward the officer, and re-
fused to obey the command. His loyalty under ex-
ceptionally trying circumstances was later recognized
and rewarded by congress. Of course the surrender
was simply slightly delayed. Another man was found
110 Highways and Byways of Florida

to haul down the flag, and the Confederate colors
rose in its place.

Thirty-one navy yard seamen got away to Fort
Pickens where they increased the force to eighty-two
men. The fort was designed for a garrison of over a
thousand. That evening a demand for its surrender
came and was refused. The men worked all day
strengthening the defenses, and at night lay by the
guns on the parapet, often called to quarters by false
alarms, and well-nigh exhausted. At the same time the
Confederates were erecting batteries commanding the
fort and its approaches. Thus things continued until
the night of April 12, when a strong Union force was
landed on Santa Rosa Island under cover of darkness,
and Fort Pickens was saved.

About a year afterward, late one night, the Con-
federates abandoned their posts in the neighborhood
of Pensacola, and attempted to destroy the buildings
in the navy yard and other property. As soon as
their design was evident the commanding officer at
Fort Pickens opened fire to hasten their withdrawal.
This resulted in saving some structures which the
Confederates had prepared to burn, and the United
States troops took prompt possession of Pensacola
and extinguished the flames where possible.

Pensacola harbor is said to be the finest and safest
one on the Gulf, protected as it is by Santa Rosa
Island from the storms of the open water beyond.
It is thirty-seven miles long, with an average width
3
a
3
9
a
ne
2
Ss
ae
7
8
SS
=
8
8
=
Ss
~
q
s
x
3
5
S
g
ws
z
9
=
5
=
=
S
as)

 
 

A drink from the Suwannee
Tallahassee and Northwestern Florida 1.11

of three miles. Many warships are usually there at
all seasons. The harbor offers delightful opportunities
for boating. Pensacola itself is a stirring modern town
with expanding industries and commerce. Off the
wharves is likely to be a busy scene where a large
fleet of vessels is loading lumber from rafts alongside.
The town is a great fish market, and from here scores
of boats go several hundred miles to fish near the
coast of Yucatan. Pensacola is in the coldest part of
Florida, yet snow seldom falls and frosts are light.
Its temperature is much the same as that of southern
Italy.

When De Soto made his long wandering journey
in the American wilderness he spent a winter in an
Indian village that was where Tallahassee now is;
and a complete suit of Spanish armor has been found
in recent years in a field in the vicinity. The ground
on which the city is built bore signs of having been
long occupied by the Indians when it.was selected in
1823 as a seat of government for the new territory of
Florida. Tallahassee is a name that the Seminoles
applied to any land occupied by the tribe as a permanent
home, and the word is equivalent to “‘ancestral acres.”

Two commissioners were appointed to visit the
region and determine on a desirable spot for the cap-
ital. One was from St. Augustine in what was then
known as East Florida, and the other from Pensacola
in West Florida. Both had difficult journeys through
the wilderness before they met late in October. One
112 Highways and Byways of Florida

night that they spent with the Indians shortly after-
ward was enlivened by a snake dance, an annual
festivity in which the savages indulged every October.
Its object was to exorcise the serpents whom they
would naturally encounter on the great hunting ex-
pedition that they went on immediately afterward.
In one of the dances called the “‘mad dance” most of
their gestures were remarkably martial and graceful
and illustrated the fiery vigor of the Indians’ char-
acter. A chief who was met two days later evinced his
opposition to the commissioners proceeding farther by
angrily catching up a handful of dirt and asking if
that was not his land.

The Indians on Tallahassee Hill had been driven
away early in 1818, and settlers from North Carolina,
Virginia, and Georgia immediately took possession
of it. The spot was chosen by the government com-
missioners because of the general beauty of the situ-
ation, and the noble growths of live oaks and magno-
lias. A log cabin erected on the southeast corner of
the present state house grounds served for a capitol
building, and there the first meeting of the Legislative
Council was held.

During the peaceful prosperous years that followed
Florida’s admission to the Union in 1845, Tallahassee
was the chief city of the state, and wealthy planters
from near and far thronged there for social pleasure.
They came in especially large numbers to enjoy “the
season,” which was when the legislature met. It was
Tallahassee and Northwestern Florida 113

not simply the men who came, but entire families,
and there were great balls as well as great debates.

The state house is an imposing structure of brick and
stucco at the brow of a hill in a grove of fine trees.
This hill is one of seven that the city occupies, and
the place is sometimes called the “Hill City.” An-
other name it has acquired is the “City of Flowers.”
Everywhere are gardens, and the citizens are rivals
in their ambition to surpass each other in the floral
adorning of their home surroundings. In early spring
Tallahassee becomes a veritable bower of roses, and
the dignified old mansions that line its streets, often
in a tangle of shrubbery and vines, and shaded by
stately oaks, magnolias, and bays, are at that time
particularly lovely. So abundant are the trees that
the place has much the aspect of an extensive park.
Tallahassee is a typical southern town—not a camp
in the woods, nor an old city metamorphosed into a
fashionable winter resort. Fortunately, too, it has
not been commercialized by “Northern enterprise.”
It has about five thousand inhabitants and is compactly
built so that the roads from its seven hills soon take
one out into the open country.

Every market day numerous negroes from the farms
troop into the city for rest and shopping. Some
come in a dilapidated conveyance drawn by a mule or
an ox. Negro mammies whose heads are covered
with a bandanna handkerchief stand in groups on the
street corners, and the men congregate here and there
114 Highways and Byways of Florida

to gossip while they observe the activities of the
town.

In the Tallahassee cemetery is a lofty monument
inscribed “Prince Murat, King of Naples,” and near
by is another monument that marks the last resting
place of the wife of this King of Naples. Prince Murat
was the oldest son of the famous marshal of France
who was made ruler of Naples by Napoleon in 1805,
but was deposed after a reign of ten years. The son
came to America soon afterward, in early manhood,
and visited nearly all the settled portions of the United
States, although carriage roads and bridle-paths were
then almost the only artificial lines of travel. He
became so enamored of the climate and country at
Tallahassee that he bought there a large estate and
erected an unpretentious house, which is still known
as the Murat Homestead. He took an active interest
in local affairs, and served successively as postmaster,
alderman, and mayor. In 1826 he married a beauti-
ful and refined Virginia girl who was a grandniece of
Washington.

Murat, though intellectually brilliant, had dubious
personal habits, and was eccentric to the verge of
lunacy. Several books that he wrote on political
affairs in the United States were published in Paris,
and one went through fifty editions. But he wasted
his property, and when he died in 1847, after years
of disease, through which he was faithfully tended by
his wife, she was left almost penniless. The restora-
Tallahassee and Northwestern Florida 115

tion of the Napoleon dynasty in France, however,
brought her recognition and a handsome competence
from the new emperor with whom she was a great
favorite.

Another European with a local estate was the Mar-
quis de Lafayette who was granted a large tract of land
east of Tallahassee in recognition of his services to the
United States during the War for Independence.

The city is in the heart of a fertile agricultural
section which is becoming a great livestock country.
In slavery times the estates of the large planters
covered thousands of acres, and their wealth enabled
them to live in true baronial style. Most of the great
plantations have now been subdivided and sold or
let to small tenants. But the country is still a land
of beauty, rising everywhere into rounded hills or
dimpling into gentle valleys, jeweled with lakes,
and having many a pretty stream winding through
its hollows. There are frequent clusters of comfortable
farm buildings, and fields of cotton, sugar-cane,
tobacco, and grain, and orchards of pears and peaches.
The soil has in it a good deal of clay, and the aspect
of nature is distinctly different from that of the sandy
country farther east and south. Here are hills that
convey a sense of exhilaration. Here too are mansions
and cabins, and negro men and women working in
the fields. It is the old South of which one has read
and dreamed.

The superlative glory of the Tallahassee country
116 Highways and Byways of Florida

is its wealth of live oaks. They are mighty in stature,
and their age covers many spans of human life. Their
great globes of richest green are seen on all the hills,
virile, strong, and lordly. Clay and sand are both
present in the soil, and they pack into capital road-
ways which require little care to keep them hard and
smooth. The roads are very apt to ramble along
between natural hedges of trees, vines, and shrubs
carelessly intermingled. These are not dense enough
to conceal the prospect, nor to shut out the breeze
which “comes straight from the Gulf,” but sufficient
to afford welcome protection from the sun. There
are long stretches of highway where the trees almost
intertwine overhead, their branches adorned by beau-
tiful mosses, ferns, and clambering vines. Portions
of the road too are lined by Cherokee roses, and there
is plenty of climbing scarlet honeysuckle, and thorn
bushes flourish in bewildering variety. The height of
the flower season is in early April.

In this region the purple martins are seen flying
back and forth over the fields uttering many cheerful
noises, and the cabin yards often have in one corner
calabashes hung from a tall pole for the martins’ ac-
commodation. The natives encourage the martins by
supplying these dangling long-necked squashes because
of the protection the martins afford to the chickens by
driving away hawks.

The mocking-birds are said to be more numerous in
the vicinity of Tallahassee than in any other part of
Tallahassee and Northwestern Florida 117

the South. In their singing season you rarely fail to
have one or more carolling within hearing.

This whole region is underdrained by subterranean
rivers. “Sinks,” caused by these streams wearing
away the overlying rock so that it drops down, abound.
Some are only a few feet across, and some are large
enough to take in a good-sized house. The water in
them may be shallow or deep, and it may be still or
swift, and it sometimes plays curious pranks. Six
miles northwest of Tallahassee is Lake Jackson with
an average width and length of five miles. Shortly
after the Charleston earthquake in August, 1886, it
distinguished itself by disappearing entirely through
some underground passage. Large numbers of fish
perished, and for a time pestilence was dreaded by the
neighboring residents. But after a few days the lake
began to fill up and since that time has maintained
the usual level.

Fifteen miles southerly from Tallahassee is one of
the most wonderful springs in the world, the Wakulla,
which sends off a full-grown river of the same name
from its single outburst. Wakulla is an Indian word
which means “mystery.” Really the spring is an
underground stream emerging from the limestone to
the surface. It occupies a nearly circular basin of the
rock four hundred feet across and eighty feet deep.
In it grow beautiful grasses and moss, and it is full
of fish. The water is thrillingly transparent. A ledge
of ghostly white rock juts up for about half the dis-
118 Highways and Byways of Florida

tance to the surface, and from beneath this the fish
come swimming as if out of the entrance to a great
cave. Precipitous heavily wooded banks overhang
the spring and add greatly to its charm. The water
flows forth at the rate of one hundred and twenty
thousand gallons a minute, and the river is two hun-
dred and fifty feet wide at the outset. Farther on the
stream attains a width of a mile, and enters the Gulf
of Mexico thirteen miles from its source.

West from the capital near Marianna is Long Moss
Spring, which pours out a good-sized creek with such
violence that fragments of stone thrown into it will
not sink. That vicinity is full of remarkable springs,
caves, sinks, and natural bridges.

Southeast of Tallahassee extends a vast belt of flat
woods merging into an almost impenetrable swamp
and tangle of undergrowth. This is a famous hunting-
ground, and somewhere in the watery jungle is the
“Wakulla Volcano.” ‘The curious inquirer will meet
people who have seen the smoke of the volcano nearly
every day in their lives, and he will meet others who
declare there is no such smoke. But it seems to be
pretty will established that ever since the country was
settled a column of smoke or vapor has been visible
in favorable weather rising from a spot so far within
the swamp that no one has ever penetrated to it.
Several expeditions organized to solve the mystery
were forced to turn back by the difficulties of the jungle.
The Indians used to affirm that the smoke has always
Tallahassee and Northwestern Florida 119

risen there from the remotest times, but of its cause
they knew no more than their white successors. An
intelligent traveler who observed the smoke from the
cupola of the courthouse at Tallahassee a few years
ago says that it rolled up in strong volume, usually
dense and dark like the smoke from a furnace chimney.
He was assured by a resident that it was often lighted
with a faint glow at night. The best informed persons
whom he consulted believed it to be vapor from a
boiling spring, possibly mingled with gas that occa-
sionally ignites. One of the tributaries of the Ocilla
River is distinctly higher in temperature than any of
the neighboring streams, and the theory is advanced
that this has its source in the supposed boiling spring.

A fort was built by the Spaniards in 1718 at Port
Leon, a little way from Apalachee Bay up the St. Marks
River. Ruined limestone masonry work still indicates
the site two miles south of the present town of St.
Marks. The first railroad in Florida was built in 1836
to connect St. Marks with Tallahassee twenty miles
away. During the Civil War the river served to some
extent as a refuge for blockade runners, but United
States gunboats cruised up and down the coast at
such short intervals that blockade running in that
section was dangerous and unprofitable. In 1863 salt
works of considerable extent were established along
the river, and thence the Confederate States obtained
much of their scanty supply of salt. These works were
producing twenty-four hundred bushels daily at the
120 Highways and Byways of Florida

end of six months when a Federal boat expedition
totally destroyed them.

Excellent shooting may be found in the passes and
creeks about the mouth of the river, and excellent
fishing in the deep channels of the river itself. The
source of the St. Marks is supposed to be Lake Micco-
sukee. Its whole course may be traced by a series of
sinks and occasional exposed reaches. It makes a
last rise from its underground ways eighteen miles
above St. Marks.

Probably the best known of all the northwestern
Florida streams is the Suwannee—not because of com-
merical or historic importance, but because it has
been immortalized in that best-loved of all plantation
songs, “The Old Folks at Home.” We are told that on
the east bank of the river, near Ellaville, stands the
tree under whose moss-hung branches the song was
written. As a matter of fact the author and com-
poser of the song, Stephen C. Foster, never saw the
Suwannee, but used the name because its rhythm
suited his purpose. The river has its origin in the great
Okifinokee swamp of Georgia, whence it winds its

devious way southward into Florida, and so on into
the Gulf. :
VII

CENTRAL FLORIDA WITH ITS LAKES AND SPRINGS

one of its distinctive charms. There are at
least thirty thousand of them, varying in size
from Okechobee to tiny lakelets with less than a hun-
dred square feet of surface. They are particularly
numerous in the central part, which has for this reason
been aptly called the “Lake District.” In Lake
County alone there are fourteen hundred lakes large
enough to have names. The county isa region of little
hills and hollows, and in the hollows is water—some-
times lily ponds, sometimes lakes several miles in length.
The Florida lakes are fairly alive with fish, and
furnish excellent sport for the angler. All are filled
with clear fresh water, even when there is no visible
inlet or outlet. But many of the streams and a large
proportion of the springs are more or less impregnated
with lime. Almost anywhere in the southern portion
of the state good fresh water can be obtained by drill-
ing into the soft calcarious rock to a depth of fifteen
or twenty feet, sinking a pipe, and fitting a pump at
the top.

On a map of Florida made about 1560 a large lake
121

| AKES abound in all parts of the state and are
122 Highways and Byways of Florida

was placed in the middle of the peninsula with a
note beside it stating, “‘So great is this lake that one
shore cannot be seen from the other.” This fits very
well Lake Okechobee, a name which means “Big
Water.” It is the largest fresh-water lake within the
limits of the United States, except Lake Michigan.
In shape it is nearly round, and the distance across it
is about thirty-five miles. Its chief tributary is the
Kissimmee River which drains millions of acres to the
north. A canal and the Caloosahatchee River connect
it with the Gulf of Mexico, and work has begun on
four canals to the east coast. During the Seminole
War it was frequently visited by scouting parties, and
in 1841 a force of seamen and marines skirted its south-
ern shore and made the first trustworthy report of its
topography. Since 1865 it has been visited frequently
by hunters and camping parties.

About half way between the lake and Tampa is
Charlie Apopka Creek, a tributary of Peace Creek,
Its extraordinary name attracts attention. Really,
this name is a corruption of the Seminole name for it,
which is Tsalopophohatchee, equivalent in English to
““Catfish-eating Creek.”

The waters of Florida present many unusual phases
in characteristics as well as names. In Sumter County
is the old Belton gristmill which has ground corn in the
neighborhood ever since 1857. It is operated by a
spring ninety-eight feet deep. The water is dammed,
and the fall generates forty-five horsepower.
Central Florida with its Lakes and Springs 123

Within easy driving distance of Winter Park, Orange
County, is Clay Spring across which strong: swimmers
strive in vain to pass, so powerful is the upward rush
of water from a dark rock chasm.

Near Gainesville there used to be what was known
as Paynes Prairie. A stream which was the outlet of
Newmans Lake flowed half-way across the prairie, and
then went down into an unfathomed abyss known to
the Indians as Alachua, that is, “The Bottomless Pit.”
The vicinity of the abyss became a favorite picnic
resort, and parties of visitors amused themselves by
throwing in whatever they could lay their hands on,
even felling large trees to see them disappear. But in
1875 Alachua refused to swallow any more, and Paynes
Prairie with its thousands of acres of rich grazing land
became a lake.

Farther south, near the town of Micanopy, a stream
used to flow into a chasm similar to Alachua, but
smaller. The owner became anxious lest the opening
should get choked and his land be overflowed. So he
built a curbing of logs around it. Unfortunately the
curbing gave way, the passage was clogged, and Tusca-
willa Lake is the result.

Five miles north of Gainesville is the Devils Mill
Hopper, a bowl-shaped depression about three acres
in extent and one hundred and fifty feet deep. The
sides of the bowl are covered with luxuriant vegetation,
and fifteen springs break from the rock and cascade
down into a pool at the bottom of the hopper.
124 Highways and Byways of Florida

No metals have ever been discovered in Florida.
Its most valuable mineral product is phosphate. Long
before the usefulness of the Florida phosphate rock as
a plant food for enriching the soil was recognized it was
used for the underpinning of houses and in building
chimneys. In 1881 a government officer who exam-
ined some of the rock near Peace Creek realized what
it was, and tried to induce capitalists in Jacksonville,
Philadelphia, New York, and Boston to buy the entire
valley, which they could have done for little more
money than has since been invested in a single mine.
But he could not persuade any one that the rock had
value. What he failed to do was accomplished by a
village doctor in 1889. Some phosphate was brought
to this doctor at Ocala by a man living near the now
famous Dunnellon mines. It had been found while
boring a well. The doctor analyzed it and reported
that the substance was seventy-six per cent phosphate
of lime, and that if the deposit was abundant it was
better than a gold mine. Within a few weeks the ten
acres of poor land on which the well was located sold for
ten thousand dollars. Other land was bought right and
left, the whole country was aroused, and men, women,
and children became prospectors for the coveted
phosphate.

Florida is the greatest producer of phosphate of any
region in the world. Lakeland is the state’s chief
center of this important fertilizer industry. The phos-
phate rock is found only a few feet beneath the surface
/

f

Central Florida with its Lakes and Springs 125

in layers from eight to twelve feet thick. The debris
from one excavation is poured into an older one so that
no lofty heaps of refuse accumulate. Many millions
of dollars are invested in the industry in this vicinity,
which produces about one-third of the world’s total
output.

From the Central Lake Region come more oranges
and grapefruit than from any other section of the state,
and these two citrus fruits are the most important prod-
ucts of the peninsula. It is the ambition of every new
settler in the Central Lake Region to have a grapefruit
and orange grove. The land between the rows of trees
is generally devoted to vegetable growing and to le-
guminous crops for the production of hay and the im-
provement of the soil in adding humus and nitrogen.
The young citrus trees begin to bloom in less than two
years, but early fruiting is discouraged, and the blos-
soms are nipped off before fruit begins to form so that
all the vitality goes into roots, trunks, and branches.
The tree follows the variety of the seed, and when prop-
erly cared for a first crop may be expected from the
seed in six years.

An orange tree is worth having merely as a flower-
ing tree, if for nothing else. It isa bouquet of sweets.
The leaping forth of the blossoms in March to gem
the green leaves is almost miraculously beautiful, the
air is full of the fragrance, and the ground is covered
with the white shell-like petals.

The early oranges are picked in November, and from
ee oe

126 Highways and Byways of Florida

that time onward there are oranges ripening until April.
Those intended for northern shipment are picked be-
fore they are throughly ripe, and the distant purchaser

. never gets the delicious flavor of the perfect orange. In

a good season the ground under the trees is covered
with fallen fruit for months, and these oranges are the
richest and sweetest if they have not been allowed to
lie too long. The yield is marvelous, and as many as
ten thousand oranges have been picked from a single
tree.

The largest orange grove in the state is the Monarch
Grove in Panasofpher Hammock, Sumter County.
It contains seven hundred and thirty-seven acres.
Some of the big oaks, hickories, magnolias, and
palmettos of the hammock were not disturbed in de-
veloping the orange grove. One of the oaks measures
forty-seven feet in circumference. Fifty men are re-
quired to care for the grove, and in the picking season
three times that number. As many as one hundred
and fourteen carloads of fruit have been sent to
market from the grove in a single season. California
and Florida are the two great orange producing states.
The latter’s crop has been about half that of California
in recent years.

The sweet orange isa native of India. Thence it was
originally brought by the Arabs to Europe, and came
to Florida by way of Spain and the West Indies. The
trees are naturally very long lived, and in Spain are
some with an authenticated record of seven hundred
Central Florida with its Lakes and Springs 127

years. Nearly all the tropical lands of the globe have
contributed to the numerous varieties now grown in
Florida. Among the regions from which they have
been introduced are northern Africa, the Azores, south-
ern Europe, China, Japan, Australia, Tahiti, and Brazil.

Occasionally, when the temperature threatens to go
alarmingly low, orange growers will keep fires burning
in their orchards through the night in an attempt to
save the crop on the trees and next year’s blossoms.
Cold slightly below freezing does not harm the oranges,
but a really severe frost destroys fruit and bloom, and
kills the trees themselves even with the ground. How-
ever, new shoots start up from the roots, with the pluck
that is characteristic of this genus of trees, and if given
a reasonable degree of care are bearing again in a few
years. Some of the rejuvenated trees, after the big
freeze of 1835, had four, five, or six trunks. The orange-
orchard owners were so discouraged that many of them
moved off. Fences were broken down, and the land
was left an open common where wild cattle browsed
and rubbed themselves on the trees. Even this treat-
ment did not entirely overwhelm them, and a few be-
came large and productive.

There are wild oranges as well as the cultivated ones.
They grow large and handsome and juicy, and, in spite
of their bitter flavor, some people find them thirst-sat-
isfying and refreshing. The fruit is used for preserves
and in the preparation of certain beverages. A clump
of these wild trees growing in the very heart of a dense
128 Highways and Byways of Florida

dark forest, where their handsome fruit glows like lamps
amid the deep green foliage, is very charming. They
are often cultivated in the town streets and about homes
for ornament and shade. Northern visitors are invited
to help themselves freely from any of these trees in the
streets and squares, and in this way frequently learn
the difference between sweet and bitter oranges by prac-
tical experience.

The Spaniards brought the grapefruit to Florida,
where it has been ever since neglected until compara-
tively recent years, yet taking care of itself with cheer-
ful virility. People often planted a few about their
houses because it grew rapidly and afforded a grateful
shade, and because it was picturesquely decorative with
its huge globes of yellow fruit. Few persons considered
the fruit edible, but now the demand for it is enormous,
and a thrifty grapefruit grove is a valuable property.
In congenial surroundings a grapefruit tree will produce
fruit almost beyond belief. A single tree ten years old
is capable of bearing a ton of fruit, though only fifteen
feet high and its trunk no more than six inches in
diameter at the butt. You may find a limb the size of
your wrist on which can be counted a hundred of the
grapefruits. It seems a marvel that the tree can sustain
the weight of them. Their name is derived, not from
any resemblance to the grape in taste or size, but be-
cause they grow in similar bunches. Plucking does not
usually begin until March, and by that time the beauti-
ful white blossoms are beginning to appear. These,
PUvzleyDT 409U L4d4L0q a40T

 
 

Picking oranges
Central Florida with its Lakes and Springs 129

combined with the yellow fruit and the thick dark
foliage, make a grove singularly beautiful. The fruit
is particularly delectable when plucked ripe direct from
the tree, one end cut off, and the juice drank as it is
set free by crushing the fruit with the hands.

“The development of Florida is due to tired Yankees
going there to spend the winter, liking the country, and
making investments.” Certainly, the average man
who comes from the marrow-chilling, fuel-devouring
rigor of the northern winter, and visits an orange
grove is bewitched by the golden wealth of fruit on the
trees. If it happens to be the season when the nectar-
filled blooms are giving forth their perfume, he will
breathe deeply of the seductive fragrance of this
new realm, and become so completely captivated that
the desire to possess an orange grove for his very own
is uncontrollable. There is something magically com-
pelling about a compact symmetrical orange orchard,
with its dark ever-enduring foliage hanging full of ripe
fruit and starred with waxy white blossoms.

All fruits grow bountiful crops in Florida, but a man
has to give thought and sweat for every dollar he makes
from them. He cannot set out an orchard and then go
fishing until it begins to bear. Nature will not take
care of it. Success in fruit requires an investment of
money, and it requires skill, good judgment, labor,
watchfulness, and the patience to wait. Better not fool
with fruit unless you are willing to go at it right.
A hit or miss orchard will not be a success. Moreover,
130 Highways and Byways of Florida

quality and honesty are essential. A market cannot
be built up by shipping an inferior product, nor by any
best-fruit-on-top device. The orange-grower may at-
tain an independent life of ease and culture and a home
that combines many attractions, but to do so he must
make a scientific study of the industry, and have
enough money to enable him to tide over the half-
dozen years before his newly-started grove will come
into bearing.

Florida soil and sunshine work all the year round,
and truck farming is a continuous performance. If
one crop fails the farmer does not have to wait until
the next year. He can at once start a new crop.

Lettuce and celery are planted in the fall and are
ready for the early winter market. After they are
harvested the same land is planted to corn, sweet
potatoes, or some such field crops, and these are
stored or sent to market the latter part of the summer.
The same soil will yield a crop of native grass which
is cut for hay in the fall, and afterward the land is
made ready for another planting of vegetables. In
many sections irrigation is easily provided by simply
boring down from ten to twenty feet, where you
strike water that will gush up in a flowing well.

You may hear of a profit of two thousand dollars
an acre from some of the crops marketed in the winter;
and the story is told of one man who built an enormous
hotel from a single crop of tomatoes. But if there
happens to be one severely cold night, that season’s
 

A phosphate mine
   

Ready to start for market
Central Florida with its Lakes and Springs 131

crop may be ruined. Another unlucky possibility
is a low price that does not pay expenses.

Some of the produce raised in Florida is drawn
long distances to the railroads. A team of eight runt
oxen of range cattle breed will come across the barrens
a distance of thirty miles drawing a creaking wagon
laden with boxes of oranges and grapefruit. They
return with a load of groceries and other supplies.
Six days are required for the round trip. You can
hear the approaching team long before you see it.
The driver carries a six foot whipstock with a lash
twice its length that will reach the foremost yoke of
oxen while he walks beside the cart. When he snaps
the whip it gives off a noise like the discharge of a
pistol. From the crack of his whip the Southern
woodsman gets the name of ‘‘cracker,” a name which
is applied indiscriminately to all natives whether drivers
of oxen or not.

Among the crackers are found families whose manner
of living is astonishingly primitive. They dispense
with many things that most of us consider necessities,
while the luxuries which a household enjoys might be
summed up in one word—tobacco. The shingles of
the roof are apt to be curled and warped under cushions
of green moss, and they are almost hidden during
the rainy season by a soft growth of tree-ferns. The |
walls are of logs, and the spaces between the logs are
chinked with mud. Often there is no window. In-
stead, the door stands open and lets a patch of sun-
132 Highways and Byways of Florida

shine fall on the earthen floor. If the day is rainy and
the door is shut, sleeping is the natural resource of the
inmates of the dwelling. The floor is higher in the
center so that the rain dripping through the broken
roof may not stand in pools about the inmates’ feet.
For such weather the logs burning in the big fireplace
give some relief. The fire, at least, is cheerful with
its leaping flames, its snappings, and its hissings of
sap. The wide hearth is at one end of the single room,
which is the whole house, except for the loft above.

The chimney is on the outside. It is built of mud,
and is girdled by barrel hoops or ropes, which were
put around it as a support while the mud was wet.
As time goes on, the heat within drying the mud usu-
ally makes the chimney lean away from the wall. In
fair weather the crackers cook out of doors for the
most part. Near the cabin a fire is built between
three great stones which serve as supports for kettles.

The people are shy and somewhat suspicious of
strangers. When questioned they glance downward
and sideways with anxious embarrassment.

Their schools and school buildings are no less prim-
itive than their dwellings. One Florida sojourner
has told of “Old Man Monson,” who, as a person of
property and character, was on the school board,
although he had no tincture of learning. He was once
greatly incensed over a mutiny of young crackers
at the district school, and rode to the scene of it, shot-
gun in hand, to quell the disturbance.
aad Kayo 4 sauuissiy py

 
 

A rustic well
Central Florida with its Lakes and Springs 133

“T found dey’d turned de teacher out 0’ do’s!” he
reported afterward. ‘‘Dere dey was—a shootin’ an’
a-hollerin’ des like a passil o’ heathen. Hit was de
low-downest t’ing I ever see.

““I went to de do’ an’ tol’ ’em dey better open it,
ef dey did’nt want to have it blowed open wi’ buck-
shot. Dey opened it den mighty quick; an’ when
I went in, dere dey was a-settin’ as cool as you please,
like dey hadn’t done no devilment ’tall.

“‘T looked round at ’em fer a w’ile, an’ den I done
tol? ’em what I thought. I said dey ought to be
plumb ’shamed o’ deirselves. I said I wasn’t a-gwine
to stand no sich goin’s on. I tol’ ’em me an’ all de
rest o’ de settlement done paid money to have ’em
a teacher—an’ here dey was a-runnin’ her off like a
nigger.

“T said dey wasn’t no ’count, an’ dey wouldn’ be
no ’count ef dey was a-gwine to do like dat. I tol’ ’em
dey got to do diff’rent. I said hit was de hardest kind
o’ work to git a teacher to come here in de woods—an’
dis totin’ revolvers to school an’ shootin’ holes in de
blackbo’d, an’ bustin’ de winders, an’ spittin’ ter-
backer on de flo’ was ’nuff to disgust any respectable
woman. I said she done right to object to it, an’ ef
any of ’em tuk to devilin’ her again dey’d have to be
dispelled from school. Dat’s what I tol’ ’em.”

There is complaint on the Florida farms of the
scarcity of help, just as there is in other parts of the
country. One farmer who tried to hire a native re-
134 Highways and Byways of Florida

ceived this reply: “What for should I work? Hit
don’t cost me but thirty-five dollars a year to live,
and I’ve got forty dollars.”

The only things an average backwoods native has
to buy are pepper, salt, and tobacco. Except for
these the country produces all he needs in the way of
food, clothing, and housing. Nowhere is the lure to
be shiftless stronger.
VIIT

THE WEST COAST

' ‘ Y HEN the Spaniards conquered Florida they
found larger and more flourishing native
villages on the west coast than anywhere

else. The healthfulness of the situation, its freedom

from fogs, the shallow and placid waters of the Gulf
of Mexico, the abundance of game, and the ease of
obtaining fish and oysters lent it an attraction that
it has by no means lost since. Weather conditions
are certainly more equable than on the Atlantic coast,
and raw easterly winds are unknown. At Cedar Keys,
for instance, the climate is declared to be simply warm
summer when the North has winter, and warmer
summer when the North has summer. The town of

Cedar Keys has a good harbor, and thrives on fishing,

turtling, sponging, and preparing red cedar for use in

manufacturing lead pencils. It is on a key that is
surrounded by scores of others, many of which have
the appearance of being a clump of palms arranged like

a tasteful bouquet, and placed in the sea to keep fresh.

One of the characteristic plants of the keys is the

Spanish bayonet. It develops palm-like from a ter-

minal bud, and when mature is eight or ten feet high
135
136 Highways and Byways of Florida

with a trunk three or four inches in diameter. The
stout leaves are very rigid and sharp-pointed. A man
might be seriously stabbed by one of them. Woe to
the luckless wanderer who attempts to force his way
through an armed Florida jungle after dark. Vegetable
cats of many species will rob him of his clothes and
claw his flesh, dwarf palmettos will saw his bones, and
the bayonets will glide to his joints and marrow.

At the beginning of the Civil War, Cedar Keys was
a convenient harbor for blockade-runners, but in
January, 1862, the Federals made a descent on it when
there were seven vessels in the harbor loaded with
cotton and turpentine waiting favorable weather to
run the blockade. ‘These vessels and their cargoes
were burned, as were also the wharves and rolling
stock of the railroad. The exposed position of the
place left it at the mercy of the United States cruisers
which occasionally visited it, and blockade-running
was not revived.

Farther down the coast is Homosassa, known and
loved by two generations of fishermen. Another fifty
miles takes one to Tarpon Springs, the ‘‘Venice of the
South.” A study of the topography of the place and
that of the adjacent territory shows the appropriate-
ness of the title. Never was a city more prettily set
in the midst of a network of bayous. Its name is
derived from a great spring in a bayou whose limpid
waters are a favorite place for the tarpon to disport
themselves.
The West Coast 137

The largest sponge fisheries in the world make
Tarpon Springs their port. The industry is carried
on by Greeks who go out in the Gulf ten to twenty
miles from shore, in water that varies from a score to
six score feet in depth, and, clad in diving suits, get
the sponges from the rocks and coral reefs. They
have about two hundred vessels of from five to one
hundred tons burden. The Greeks nearly all dwell
in a community of their own at the northern limits
of the city. Many of the people are out on the sponge
vessels most of the time. The industry brings about
a million dollars a year to the place.

There are no better or safer cruising grounds than
the waters in the vicinity of Tarpon Springs, and there
is no better bathing than on the Gulf beaches. Near
at hand are a number of delightful islands with pictur-
esque tropical growths that make the finest of camp-
ing and picnic grounds. A trip up the Anclote River,
which joins the Gulf on the borders of the city, offers
such attractions that nearly every day throughout the
entire winter excursion parties come to Tarpon Springs
from other West Coast towns to take this river trip.
The stream is deep, and a good current keeps it clean,
and it is charmingly crooked. Its banks are generally
high; and the tropical jungle which lines them, and
the alligators that may be seen basking in the sun,
make a romantic setting that thrills the visitor with
delight. The beauty of the river increases the farther
up one goes, until the branches of the bordering trees,
138 Highways and Byways of Florida

with their adornment of airplants and of yellow jas-
mine and other vines, meet overhead.

Two miles north of this river is Trouble Creek, along
the shores of which is an outcrop of blue flint rock.
The banks of the stream show abundant evidence of
having been occupied by Indian makers of arrowheads
and other implements of flint.

A few miles more to the north is the Pithlachascootee
River, the rocky shores of which are densely over-
grown with palmettos. There is excellent fishing in
the stream, and on the reefs near its mouth splendid
oysters are obtained. The country neighboring the
river and for a hundred miles up the coast furnishes as
good hunting as can be found in the state. Quail,
ducks, deer, and wild turkeys frequent the wilds, and
occasionally a bear or catamount can be found.

Florida’s most important commercial city on the
Gulf coast is Tampa. It is on a point of land at the
head of the eastern arm of Tampa Bay, near where
Fort Brooke was established in 1821 immediately
after Florida was acquired by the United States. The
site of the fort, the old barracks of which are still
standing, is now a public park. Within the park limits
are the remains of several aboriginal mounds, the
largest of which is about one hundred feet across and
seven to nine feet high. Split and charred bones found
there by the United States troops when they first oc-
cupied the locality were suggestive of cannibalism on
the part of the mound-builders.
The West Coast 139

Until after the Seminole War, Tampa was almost the
only place on the Gulf coast of the peninsula where a
white man could live in security. Even there, safety
was only secured by the presence of a strong garrison.
All supplies for the interior posts had to be hauled
under escort over the military roads that led north
and east.

In November, 1862, Tampa was shelled by United
States gunboats to dislodge the small Confederate
garrison, and during the rest of the war an occasional
visit from a Union gunboat sufficed to prevent the
place being made a harbor for blockade runners.

The city has many cigar factories, the workers in
which live in a section known as “Little Havana.”
Here dwell about twenty-five thousand Cubans and
Spaniards who use their native language, and have
established a typical Cuban city on American soil.
. Eight miles south is the port from which the ocean
steamers sail. A wharf nearly a mile long runs out into
the bay to reach deep water. At its end is a unique
hotel where one may fish from the veranda, and you
easily fancy yourself on shipboard.

At Indian Hill, a score of miles southeast of Tampa,
are enormous shell heaps, some of which are eight hun-
dred feet long and twenty or thirty feet high, and are
visible several miles at sea. These shell mounds are
found in many parts of Florida. They are supposed
to be the natural accumulation of waste material in
the vicinity of an Indian camp. When a campsite
140 Highways and Byways of Florida

had been chosen. the savages would gather around a
fire made on the ground to do their cooking and eating
from day to day. They would toss the shells and bones
behind them, and presently a circular bank of shells
would be formed around the fire, and the central space
would be so inconvenient that the fire would be shifted
to the top of the bank, and the process repeated. In-
deed, the remains of such successive fires with dark
burnt shells and fragments of pottery have been found
in the mounds. Any one who has camped fora few days
near a Florida oyster-bed must have noticed the
phenominal rapidity with which the piles of shells in-
crease. The Indians, who lived mainly by fishing and
hunting must have heaped up the waste still faster.

A popular West Coast resort is St. Petersburg near
the tip of the peninsula which separates Tampa Bay
on the west from the Gulf of Mexico. It has a character
of its own due to the fact that it does not cater to
fashion and frivolity, but attracts people who seek
quiet and rest. The inhabitants call it the “Sunshine
City.” A St. Petersburg newspaper has gained a great
deal of notoriety by offering free its entire edition on
every day that the sun fails to shine. Then the news-
boys pass the papers to any persons who will accept
them; but the sunless days do not average more than
half a dozen in a year.

St. Petersburg claims to be the greatest salt-water
fishing center of the eastern coast of the United States.
The neighboring waters teem with the various game
ssuidg uodivy yw jaayf asuods yaa15 ay]

 
 

 

A Bellair bridge
The West Coast 141

fish, and excellent fishing may be enjoyed in the vi-
cinity the year around, but the best months for tarpon,
the most notable of all game fish in the sea, are April
and May. The city has its Tarpon Club, the president
of which is the person who has caught the heaviest
tarpon during the previous tournament season.

The natural home of the tarpon, or “Silver King”
ag it is also called, is the Gulf of Mexico, and it is es-
sentially a tropical fish, though stray specimens have
been found as far north as Cape Cod, and they are
fairly abundant on some parts of the Florida east
coast. Adult specimens often exceed six feet in length.
They rarely weigh more than two hundred pounds,
but some have been caught which were twice that
heavy. It is herring-like in shape and general ap-
pearance, with an enormous mouth and large fierce
eyes. Its glistening silvery scales are sometimes three
inches across. The tarpon travel in schools varying from
five to a hundred, and may be seen in the shoal water
where they feed prowling about and stirring up the
muddy bottom.

Only since 1885 has the tarpon been recognized as
a game fish. Before that they were sometimes har-
pooned or taken in a seine, but their great size, strength,
and agility enabled them to defy most devices for their
capture. The performance of a tarpon is so picture-
esque and thrilling that anglers come from all over the
world to try their hands at catching this marvelous
game fish. It is so wonderfully acrobatic that it some-
142 Highways and Byways of Florida

times leaps entirely over a boat. Etiquette prescribes
that after a tarpon is hooked, other boats near by shall
up anchor and keep out of the way. The struggle to
secure it may last for hours, and experienced fishermen
say that the protracted excitement of landing a tarpon
far exceeds that afforded by the salmon, hitherto con-
sidered the monarch of game fishes. As soon as it
takes the bait it begins a series of leaps, striving to
shake itself clear of hook and line. It is said to be
capable of making a horizontal leap of twenty or thirty
feet. If you are in a small boat and the fish is large
you may be capsized. You are likely to have sore
fingers, and will possibly lose a finger-nail before the
tarpon can be brought alongside and gaffed. The
flesh is only moderately good for eating, and usually,
after capture, the tarpon is turned back into the water.
Such is the exertion of catching one that some men
are so exhausted and unnerved they will never fish
for them again, but most are anxious for another
tussle.

Interesting places abound in the vicinity of Tampa
Bay; and farther south are many more, including
Manatee amid its orange groves, and Sarasota with
its shell beaches and fine bathing. At Sarasota in one
recent year the thermometer registered exactly the
same on July 4th, Thanksgiving Day, and Christmas.
A famous resort for sportsmen is Charlotte Harbor
which offers ‘‘the best tarpon fishing in the world.”
Besides tarpon, its angling possibilities include the
uogini Dv Juryrqv9 U1 uamow Surnoxa Up

 
 

County

A schoolhouse in Lee
The West Coast 143

catching of a ladyfish that weighs six pounds, a snook
that weighs twelve pounds, a mackerel shark that
weighs seventy-five pounds, and a kingfish that weighs
fifty pounds.

The ladyfish is “the quickest thing that swims.”
The voracious snook takes both spoon and bait, and
jumps clear of the water. It is a vicious fighter. But
perhaps none of the finny tribe is more spectacular
than the game kingfish. It will jump from five to
twenty feet in the air with the bait in its mouth, and
hits the water with a rush that is hard to stop. When-
ever you go out in a boat here with hook and line
you do well to take along a harpoon in order to be
ready for sharks, turtles, porpoises, and devil fish.

It is considered probable that Cordova discovered
Charlotte Harbor in 1517, and that he landed there to
hunt slaves. But he was so warmly received by the
natives that his stay was short.

Down on the Caloosahatchee River is Fort Myers,
nestling in the shade of its cocoa palms. Here are the
largest grapefruit groves in the world; and here the in-
ventor, Edison, has a winter home. Fort Myers is the
outfitting point for cruises down the coast into the
bird-haunted labyrinths of the Ten Thousand Islands.

Among these islands you thread your way by a net-
work of rivers that divide and subdivide into creeks,
which often will give passage only to skiffs. Even
then you may have to clear a course with knives
through vines and overhanging branches. In some
144 Highways and Byways of Florida

places are hundreds of tiny mangrove islands in each
square mile amid the shallow channels.

Population in this remote southwestern section of
Florida is almost non-existent. Court justice is con-
sidered too expensive and uncertain for such a region,
and the people are largely left to settle their own quar-
rels. Many deserters from the Confederate service
and refugees resorted to the Ten Thousand Islands
during the Civil War. Since then there has never been
a time when the islands were not an asylum for moon-
shiners, murderers, chain-gang criminals, and smug-
glers. You find men who turn away their faces when
they meet you, and who refuse to tell you their names.
These outcasts trap otters, and shoot alligators and
plume-birds. They sell the skins through the Indians,
or to dealers who go to them secretly. Sometimes they
kill one another in a quarrel over a bird rookery.

Occasionally there may be seen in the wilderness a
modest shack surrounded by a field of sugar cane.
The crop is likely to be used in distilling illicit whisky.
Hunters and outlaws come to imbibe the liquor, and
so do the Indians. An Indian will bring his family and
camp for weeks in one gloriously prolonged drunk,
which wipes out the product of a season’s shooting and
trapping. Latterly the Indian has learned to make
fire water for himself in crude stills which he constructs
from old iron cans and pipes.

One of the most picturesque characters of this wilder-
ness was a man named Wilson. A Key West sheriff
The West Coast 145

who went to his plantation to arrest him was promptly
disarmed and set to work in the canefield. Two days
later he was released and his gun was restored to him
unloaded. He went away with professions of friend-
ship for his host. When he arrived at Key West he
reported that Mr. Wilson was the only man on the
coast who was doing anything, and that he ought to
be let alone.

Much of the southern end of the Florida mainland,
as well as the Ten Thousand Islands, has been chiefly
built with soil rescued from the water by the red man-
grove, a tree curiously adapted for the purpose. The
mangrove’s dark evergreen foliage and its countless
exposed roots, somber red in color, hem in all the is-
lands, and border the bays and water-courses of the
region almost universally. It puts forth a few flowers
throughout the year, but covers itself with yellow
blossoms at midsummer. The seeds germinate while
the fruit is still on the tree, and not until eight months
after blossom time are they prepared to leave the
parent stem. Then they have attained a length of
from six to eighteen inches, and have so weakened the
supporting fibers, as they sway in the breezes, that
they break loose. Many of these miniature trees drop
straight down into the shallow water below. There
they attach themselves firmly to the soil, and soon a
flourishing young family is established under the
parent tree.

Myriads of other seedlings drift away to found
146 Highways and Byways of Florida

colonies on the first bank to which current, wind, or
tide may chance to bear them. The waters at this
season are filled with the pioneer mangroves. Nature
so ballasts the little craft that they float upright, and
when left by the receding tide on a bank or shoal, the
roots get a grip, the leaves unfold, and the process of
forming a new island, or of extending an old shore line,
is begun. Sometimes a single tree starts alone, and
sometimes a thousand commence housekeeping to-
gether. As the trunk grows, the lower portion dies
away leaving the tree supported by the stilt-like roots
that sprout from stem and branches. The mangrove,
anchored by these aerial roots, holds the shifting sands
or unstable mud, and gathers more. A single tree,
separate from companions, resembles an ungainly
centipede of gigantic proportions. So freely do the
roots subdivide, extend, and interlace that they form
a dense jungle which is almost impassable to human
beings. But panthers glide gracefully through it, and
it does not seriously impede the passage of the bear,
nor even that of the antlered deer.

The wood was for a long time accounted worthless.
It is not even fit for fuel. A fire is more likely to be
put out than encouraged by it. Recently, however,
the bark has been found to be rich in tannin, and
camps have been established to exploit its possibilities
in this line.

Oysters flourish among the roots that reach down
into the shallows, and cling to them in great bunches,
The West Coast 147

many of which weigh as much as fifty pounds. Reefs
of oysters form beneath the trees and do their part in
the developing of new land. At length the ground is
lifted above the tides, and cypress trees begin to flour-
ish in it. The years pass on, and portions of the swamp
develop into knolls or “hammocks” on which grow
gnarled live oaks, stately pines, royal palms, and
fragrant magnolias.
IX

THE SEMINOLES

largely agricultural, but they were also bold
navigators and brave warriors. There were
several confederacies in the peninsula, and these were
often at war with each other. All the early explorers
speak admiringly of the native Floridians. They were
of large stature, light olive brown in color, and given
to tattooing their skins. They were very intelligent,
and often possessed courteous dignified manners. At
first they were disposed to be friendly to Europeans,
but they naturally resented attempts at conquest, and
proved their courage on many a hard-fought field.
Early in the eighteenth century serious dissensions
arose among the Indians of Alabama, and a strong party
seceded and invaded the northern central section of
Florida. There they subjugated the surrounding tribes,
whose strength had been broken by the Spanish scourge,
and they became known as Seminoles, which means
outlaws. Other northern tribes followed their example,
and within a hundred years the Seminoles had overrun
the state, and the native Floridians had disappeared or
intermarried to an extent that left few traces of their
existence.

he native inhabitants of Florida were orginally

148
The Seminoles 149

Toward the end of the Spanish dominion the mixed
tribes of Seminoles, Creeks, and runaway negroes began
to commit depredations on the frontiers of Alabama
and Georgia. No redress could be obtained from the
Spanish authorities, and at length United States troops
carried the war into Florida. When General Jackson
led an expedition against the Seminoles in 1818 he dis-
covered at Miccosukee ‘‘three hundred scalps of men,
women, and children, most of them fresh.” In this
foray Jackson severely punished the Indians, hung their
chiefs, and even executed two Englishmen who were
supposed to be instigating the savages and supplying
them with munitions of war.

The Florida country was particularly well suited to
the Indians. It was well watered, and abounded with
game. By selling the skins of the deer, the bear, the
panther, and the wolf to traders they were able to get
clothing and other necessaries. They had roamed in
the peninsula from the remotest period in untrammeled
freedom, Spain had established only a few settlements,
none of which was far from the coast, and had exercised
little or no authority over the Indians. -But no sooner
had Florida been ceded to the United States than the
aggressive lawless elements of the then frontier states
of Georgia, Alabama, and Mississippi went in to possess
the land. They had been doing this in an underhand
way for a generation. The new settlers showed little re-
spect for the boundaries of those sections which be-
longed to the Indians, and the rich agricultural capa-
150 Highways and Byways of Florida

bilities of the territory caused the demand to wax
urgent that the Indians be removed, for they occupied
some of the best lands.

Another source of irritation was the fact that the
wilds of the peninsula lured fugitive slaves from the
Southern states. The Seminoles harbored these slaves
and would neither return them to their owners nor per-
mit the owners to come and get them. Some of the
fugitives intermarried with their protectors, and such
bonds were established between the two races that
the Indians would not make any treaty which did not
provide protection for their negro companions.

For a long time the black men and red lived together
contentedly with all their simple wants well supplied.
At length, however, men from the states to the north
came with chains and bloodhounds to catch the runaway
slaves, and they not only carried off the negroes, but
stole the Indians’ horses and cattle, and committed
other depredations, which in the end led to open hos-
tilities. At that time the Seminoles numbered about
four thousand, and nearly a thousand negroes were
associated with them. They had scattered plantations
and villages throughout the territory.

In the course of many ‘“‘talks” a proposition was
made to the Indians by the United States offering
strong inducements to go West, and a treaty was made
at Paynes Landing on the Ocklawaha River in May, 1832,
whereby it was agreed that a delegation of Seminole
leaders should visit the proposed tribal reservation in
The Seminoles I5I

Arkansas. The members of the delegation spent several
months there, and when they returned they told the
government officials that Arkansas was a land where
snow covered the ground, and frosts chilled the bodies
of men. ‘We are not willing to go,” they said. “You
would send us among bad Indians, with whom we could
never be at rest. We are happy here. If we are torn
from these forests our heartstrings will snap.”

Nevertheless, by a system of coercion, fifteen chiefs
were induced to make their cross-marks on a paper
agreeing to emigrate, and the United States sent troops
to compel the removal. At once the Indians began to
gather their crops, remove the squaws and children to
places of safety, and prepare for battle. Guns and much
powder and bullets were obtained from Cuban fishing
smacks in exchange for furs. The Indians made flour
from the roasted acorns of the live oaks, and the pal-
metto trees supplied them with cabbage. The woods
were full of meat. There were deer and bear, and an
abundance of smaller game such as wild turkey, turtle,
and squirrel.

A portion of the Indians would have avoided trouble
with the government by migrating, but the large ma-
jority opposed the plan. All the negroes among the
Seminoles were against it, and some of them were very
prominent in the councils of the savages. In the opposi-
tion party was that notable chief, Osceola, whose name
means Rising Sun. He was exceedingly violent in his
denunciation of the project. His mother belonged to
152 Highways and Byways of Florida

the Red Stick tribe, a branch of the Creeks. She mar-
ried an Englishman, who was a trader among the Indi-
ans. Osceola was born in Georgia on the Tallapoosa
River about 1800. When he was eight years old a quar-
rel among the Creeks resulted in his mother’s taking
him off with her to the Okefinokee Swamp.

In 1818, when General Jackson was invading Florida
in his warfare on the Seminoles, Osceola retreated with
a small party south as far as Peace Creek, where he
settled. A few years afterward he moved to the Big
Swamp in the neighborhood of Fort King, now Ocala.
He married a squaw, one of whose ancestors was a
fugitive slave, and one day, when the young warrior
and his wife visited the trading post of the fort to buy
supplies, she was seized and carried off into slavery.
Osceola, wild with rage and grief, made strenuous but
unsuccessful attempts to rescue her.

He was a man of fine figure and splendid physique.
His head was always encircled by a blue turban sur-
mounted with waving black eagle plumes, and about his
waist he wore a red sash. He had a natural gift of
eloquence like most of his race.

When General Wiley Thompson, the Indian agent
at Fort King, reminded Osceola that the Seminoles
had promised to leave for the West, and ordered him
to sign the emigration list, the young chief pretended
to be about to make his mark on the treaty, but in-
stead stuck his knife through it. For this act of con-
tempt he was manacled and confined in the fort. But
qnos
Osnp SiY Ul UBIPUT Sapopsuaay Uw
F

Pre toe

 
 

ver near Ormond

ka Ri

The Tomo
The Seminoles 153

when he presently promised to bring thither one hun-
dred warriors to sign the paper the irons were removed,
and he was set free. At once he collected a strong force
armed with knives and rifles, and supplied with plenty
of ammunition.

The first definite demonstration of hostility in the
Seminole War occurred in June, 1835, when some
whites discovered a party of five Indians a long dis-
tance outside their boundaries butchering a beef, and
disarmed and flogged them. ‘Two Indian hunters
came up and fired on the whites, and when the skirmish
ended two Indians had been killed, and three white
men wounded, one of them fatally. A few weeks later
a dispatch rider carrying mail from Fort Brooke, now
Tampa, to Fort King was killed and his body sunk
in a pond. Next an old chief who had started prepara-
tions to emigrate, and had gathered his cattle to sell
them, was met on the trail to his village by Osceola
and a party of Miccosukies and shot down.

Afterward Osceola with twenty of his boldest warriors
went to wreak vengeance on General Thompson.
He lingered in the neighborhood of the Indian agency
at Fort King seven days waiting for a favorable oppor-
tunity. That opportunity came on December 28th,
when the general and a lieutenant enjoying their
after dinner cigars were walking toward the suttler’s
store about a mile from the fort. The Indians fired,
and the two men fell dead. Thompson was hit by
fourteen bullets. The Seminoles proceeded to the
154 Highways and Byways of Florida

store where they shot five more whites, stole what they
could carry away, and set fire to the building. The
garrison at the fort numbered only forty-six, and they
deemed it imprudent to sally forth against a force of
Indians which they fancied was far larger than their
own.

That same day a much more serious massacre oc-
curred about fifty miles farther south. On the 24th
of the month one hundred and ten United States Reg-
ulars, with a six pounder and a light wagon containing
ten days’ provisions, left Fort Brooke on Tampa Bay
to reénforce Fort King. ‘They did not know that
hostilities had actually begun, and no precautions were
taken to guard against ambuscade, except marching
with loaded guns. At ten o’clock on the morning of
the 28th, as they were going along the military road
not far from the Wahoo Swamp and the Withlacoochee
River in a broad expanse of grassy open pine woods,
a withering fire was suddenly delivered by a large
party of nearly two hundred Indians concealed only a
few rods away in the scrub palmetto that skirted the
road. The savages were headed by a chief named
Jumper, often called “the lawyer,” who had appealed
to all the warriors to join him, if they were not cowards.
General Jackson had offered a reward of five hundred
dollars for the capture of Jumper. Nearly half the
whites, including the commander, Major Dade, fell
at the first volley, and the column was thrown into
confusion. But the survivors promptly rallied, fired
The Seminoles 155

five or six rounds from the six-pounder, and drove
the foe from the palmetto thicket over a ridge with
their bayonets. Then they cut down pine trees and
made a low triangular breastwork. Behind this they
all lay down, when the Indians renewed their attack
after a respite of less than an hour, and loaded and
fired as best they could. The savages persisted in
the assault until the last man behind the barricade had
fallen. That night they returned to the Wahoo Swamp
with the bloody scalps of their victims. They gave
the scalps to their medicine man, who placed them
on a pole ten feet high, around which the warriors
danced after smearing their faces with the blood of
. their foes and drinking freely of fire-water.

Only two persons in the government force were not
slaughtered. One of these was a wounded soldier who
bribed an Indian to spare him, and after hiding in the
palmetto scrub until the enemy was gone, crawled on
his hands and knees a distance of sixty miles to Fort
Brooke. The other was a negro slave who served the
whites as a guide, and who was the only unwounded
person in the command. He is supposed to have
known the time and place at which the attack was to
be made, and to have separated himself from the
troops beforehand. As soon as the firing began he
joined the Indians and aided them in. the massacre.
For long afterward he was the steady companion of
Coacoochee (in English the name means Wild Cat),
one of the most warlike of the Seminole chiefs, and
156 Highways and Byways of Florida

he was still Wild Cat’s companion when that chief
took up a forced abode in the West.

Fort Brooke learned of the massacre a few days
after the event through the wounded soldier, but the
garrison was not strong enough to venture out. The
news did not reach Fort King until February. A force
from there visited the scene of the tragedy on the 2oth
of that month. They first saw some broken and scat-
tered boxes, then a cart, and the two oxen which had
drawn it lying dead with their yokes still on them.
About thirty bodies of the dead whites lay behind the
breastwork, every man evidently where he had been
shot dead at his post. Beyond the breastwork were
other bodies, most of them scattered. The remains
of the victims were buried on the spot, but in 1842
were removed to the military burial-ground in St.
Augustine.

This massacre astounded the country. No such
event had ever before occurred in the annals of Indian
warfare. It seemed incomprehensible that two entire
companies of trained soldiers fully armed and bravely
officered should be annihilated by a not very numerous
band of half naked savages.

The Indians quickly overran the country, and the
long and bloody war began in earnest. Early in 1837
arrangements were made with them for their removal,
and a large number assembled near Tampa with Black
Dirt, Alligator, Cloud, the Prophet, Shiver and Shakes,
Tigertail, and other chiefs. Provisions and clothing
The Seminoles 157

were distributed, and twenty-two vessels came to
carry the Indians to New Orleans. But excuses were
made, and the departure was delayed from week to
week. Many whites who had abandoned their homes
returned in the belief that the war had ended. It
had been agreed that the Seminoles who emigrated
should be paid for their cattle and ponies, and take
along their other property and the negroes who were
among them. Everything might have gone well had
not the slaveholders begun to seize the negroes. The
Seminoles thought themselves betrayed and fled to
their former fastnesses.

Gradually, however, they were pushed southward,
and the last general engagement was fought on Christ-
mas Day, 1837, on the northern shore of Lake Okecho-
bee. It was a hand to hand struggle in the depths of
a horrible swamp. The Indians were beaten and never
afterward faced the Americans in force.

At the end of two years of warfare fifteen hundred
Indians had been captured by hook or by crook and
transferred to the West. The savages had learned
that it was not in fighting set battles that their true
strength lay, and now they confined themselves to
bushwhacking in small parties. To outmaneuver
them was very difficult. The commanding general
said, “The greater portion of southern Florida is an
unexplored wilderness, of the interior of which we are
as ignorant as of the interior of China.”

The troops endured great hardship and privation.
158 Highways and Byways of Florida

They were exposed to drenching rains, and to the
diseases of a wild swampy country with an almost
torrid climate, they waded rivers and made long
marches over the hot sands and into the jungles.
Encumbered with their wagons and field pieces, they
were at a considerable disadvantage in their move-
ments as compared with the Indians, who could swim
the streams and move about freely through the wilder-
ness on their narrow trails, or even where there were
no trails. The savages had a marvelous capacity for
suddenly appearing and as suddenly vanishing. Often
they mystified their pursuers by escaping from the
very clutches of those following them. During one
of the campaigns a party of soldiers surrounded an
Indian who had sought refuge in a small pool of swampy
water. They thought he could not possibly get away,
but after a minute search they were unable to find
him, and abandoned the quest. On a later occasion he
was not so fortunate. The troops captured him, and he
told how, when surrounded in the pool, he was lying be-
neath the very log on which one of the party stood, with
his entire body under water except the tip of his nose.

Such was the difficulty of finding the Indians that
thirty-five bloodhounds were brought from Cuba,
where they cost one hundred and fifty dollars each,
to be employed in tracking the invisible red men.
But they had been trained to hunt negroes, and would
not follow the scent of the Indians.

One device of the whites was to establish block-
The Seminoles 159

houses at a great many points, each with mounted
scouts who were always on the search in their respec-
tive districts. Tragedies multiplied on all sides, yet
there were frequent intervals when warfare was sus-
pended while efforts were made to negotiate a peace.
The wily Indians were always ready to “talk” in the
spring, for if they could get the whites to cease hos-
tilities, then they had an opportunity to rest, draw
rations, and get some sort of a crop raised by the
squaws off in the woods. That done, they disappeared
and resumed their depredations. It was to one of
these talks that Wild Cat came to meet the govern-
ment officials in a remarkable costume which he had
made up from the properties of some actors whom
he had ambushed and plundered not far from St.
Augustine. When he was told that unless the Indians
emigrated the United States would exterminate them,
he responded that the Great Spirit might exterminate
them, but the pale-faces could not, else why had they
not done it before?

After the war had dragged on for more than five
years the powerful government of the United States
was still baffled by a tribe of Indians reduced in num-
bers to only a few hundreds. There had been seven
successive commanding generals. Now an eighth was
appointed—General Worth. Under his guidance the
campaign against the Indians was pushed steadily
winter and summer, and they were followed into the
most remote of their swamp retreats. Their leading
160 Highways and Byways of Florida

chief now was Wild Cat. Since he escaped from
Fort Marion he had been a most daring and unrelent-
ing enemy of the whites. He refused to do any more
conferring with them until the summer of 1841, when
his little daughter was captured. Then he went to
General Worth’s camp, trusting once more to the pro-
tection of a white flag. The meeting with his child
was very affecting. General Worth treated him with
such consideration that they became friends, and
Wild Cat agreed to emigrate with his people. While
returning to his warriors, he was captured through
some misunderstanding and transported ‘to New
Orleans in chains. But General Worth had him
promptly brought back, and apologized to him. With
Wild Cat’s help, the Indians were persuaded to emi-
grate, a few at a time, though none left except regret-
fully. As they sailed away from Tampa Bay, leaving
behind their home shores, their wails and anguish
touched the hearts of the most hardened sailors. A
small remainder, estimated at one hundred warriors
and two hundred women and children, determined to
dwell in the Everglades rather than leave their native
land, and as they could not be caught they were al-
lowed to remain unmolested.

Thus ended a war which had lasted nearly seven
years and had kept operating in Florida troops varying
in number from three thousand to nine thousand.
It had cost the United States fifteen hundred lives
and about twenty million dollars.
x

THE EVERGLADES

[Mio is a compelling charm about the un-

known, and in the Everglades that charm is

still potent. They have always been a region
of mystery. Stories are told of pirate ships laden with
booty being chased to the Florida coast, where they
evaded their pursuers by taking refuge within the
fastnesses of the Glades. The winding streams of the
southern part of the peninsula are reputed to flow
over treasures in scuttled boats, and their banks to be
the hiding-place of hoards of buried wealth left by the
old sea-rovers. Much money has been spent in at-
tempts to discover the treasures.

Although the mild winter of Florida draws constantly
increasing numbers thither, the tip of the peninsula is
the last portion of America to be intimately explored.
Our own surveys of some of the more intricate parts
of its coast have not been dependable until recently.
The first organized expedition crossed the Everglades
in 1883, and maps made not long ago portrayed good-
sized rivers half a hundred miles long traversing the
region, where, in reality, the vague waterways are

scarcely worthy to be called streams. The Everglades
161
162 Highways and Byways of Florida

occupy a shallow basin one hundred and thirty miles
north and south and seventy east and west, which
makes a total area much the same as that of the state
of Connecticut. Yet this vast expanse, bordered as it
is by lines of commerce and fashionable travel, is even
now almost unplotted and unvisited. Its only human
dwellers are a few hundred Indians who thread its
lonely water-paths in primitive dugout canoes.

It is not exactly land, and not exactly water. There
is too much water to travel by land, and too much
rank saw-edged grass to journey freely by water. The
only relief to its level prairie-like monotony is a dotting
of islets heavy with tropical growths, and usually
plumed with one or two palmettos. Florida is a broad
limestone mountain-top, much of which is covered by
a mantle of sand. It has remarkably copious springs,
and these springs are the source of the water in the
Everglades. ‘The water forms a veritable lake that
nowhere is stagnant or wholly at rest. Rains furnish
only a small percentage of the clear, limpid, and pala-
table water, and the springs account for the rest. No
stream of any kind runs into the basin, yet numerous
creeks and rivers lead out of it. The rim of the basin
has an altitude of about a dozen feet above low tide.
On the east it is within three to twelve miles of the
coast, but on the west side recedes much farther; and
here lie the dark watery woodlands known as the Big
Cypress, a trackless labyrinth of swamps, lagoons,
creeks, and low fertile islands, all deep buried in the
The Everglades 163

shadows of a mighty cypress forest. The rock floor of
the Everglades basin is usually found at a depth not
exceeding six feet, but in places is twice that far down.
Wherever it is struck with a pole or an oar it gives out
a somewhat hollow metallic sound.

Almost the entire floor is covered with a layer of
muck, which varies in thickness from a few inches to
several feet. In this muck grows the saw grass, some-
times attaining a height of ten feet. Its vigor never
varies, for neither heat nor cold ever weaken its vicious
energy. The grass hides the water, save in the numer-
ous little channels which wind aimlessly about, some-
times coming to a blank end, sometimes broadening
into a clear space abloom with pond-lilies. These
leads or openings are full of promise to the explorer,
but are usually only a snare.

Along the eastern and western edges of the lake are
uncounted islands, some of them alluvial, but most
outcrops of the rock of the basin covered with a rich
mold. The former are wet. The latter are habitable,
and occasionally one will have a dry cultivable area
hundreds of acres in extent, that responds generously
to the rather fitful labor of the Seminoles. The forests
that cover the islands are very luxuriant. Vines
abound and attain great size. Wherever the ground
is dry enough the Florida arrow-root flourishes. This
is the mainstay Of the Seminoles and supplies delicate
and digestible flour and starch. Wild flowers are re-
markably profuse, including rare and lovely orchids.
164 Highways and Byways of Florida

On many of the islands grow giant ferns, the fronds of
which attain a length of ten feet.

Animal life is fairly abundant in the islanded parts.
Here deer are found, and now and then a bear or pan-
ther. Otters are plentiful, and these and alligators are
hunted by the Seminoles for their skins. ‘There are
numerous snakes, including the poisonous rattlesnake
and moccasins, but they do not hang from the trees in
the fine festoons that used to be pictured. One won-
ders that the Seminoles should go habitually bare-
limbed from the knee down in this snake-infested
wilderness. ‘There is such a dearth of stagnant water
that few breeding-places are furnished for insects.
Even mosquitoes are lacking except along the borders,
but the thick abundant foliage encourages the gnats
and small flies, and fleas are plentiful in the Indian
camps.

In climate the Everglades know neither sudden
change nor extremes of heat and cold. Winter chill is
softened, and summer heat made genial. The rainy
season includes all the summer months and the early
fall. The rest of the year is fairly dry, though showers
are not entirely lacking.

Such are the difficulties of penetrating the Ever-
glades that what we have learned of them during the
past three centuries has been learned in fragments, and
with pain and peril. The first white man to enter
their confines was a Spaniard who was shipwrecked in
the Strait of Florida, and became the captive and
99q0YI2YO ayvT fo PLOYS 947 UC

 
 

The Cotee River near Sarasota
The Everglades 165

slave of a Calos chief who was known as Lord of the
Everglades. The tribe called the whole region May-
aimi, a name which still persists in that of Miami, and
they called the Everglades the Lake of the Sweet
Water.

The Spanish captive’s name for them was the Lake
of the Holy Spirit. He was among the Indians for
seventeen years, during which time he was concerned
chiefly in a search for gold and for the spring of fade-
less youth. He found no gold, and though he affirmed
that he bathed in every pool and spring his youth
departed, and he died.

The Calos tribe presently disappeared from the
region, and at length a remnant of the Seminoles settled
in the Bvergiades which they called the Grassy-water.
The seven years’ war with the whites had not ended,
and later fresh difficulties arose, with the result that
military detachments made various incursions into the
Glades from 1841 to 1856. One of these, which is
fairly typical, occurred in June, 1855. Sixty-three
men with an Indian guide set out from the eastern
edge in canoes. When water leads failed them the
boats were forced through the saw grass, partly by
poling, partly by wading and shoving. Often the
grass had to be cut away in front, and the men suffered
greatly from wounds made by its sharp-toothed edges.
At night they had to sleep camped in the canoes.
Finally the grass barrier became so dense they were
obliged to turn back, after having gone a winding way
166 Highways and Byways of Florida

of one hundred and twenty miles, or, in a direct line,
fifty-three miles.

The expedition of 1883, which has been referred to,
was undertaken by four white men and six negro
oarsmen. They had two large canoes and several
smaller ones, and carried provisions for sixty days.
The start was made October 21st, from Punta Rasa
at the mouth of the Caloosahatchee, and on the first
day of November the party reached Lake Okechobee.
Beyond that they encountered a dense tangle of grass,
scrub-willow, and custard-apple through which they
were only able to advance a few hundred yards a day.
Presently this was succeeded by watery prairies of
saw grass to which they set fire, but as the water here
was only four feet deep progress continued to be slow
and laborious. Not until late in the month did they
find deeper water. Then they got along faster, and
at last descended the Shark River to Whitewater
Bay at the tip of the peninsula.

A more ambitious expedition was undertaken in
the early spring of 1892. Twenty-one men with two
cypress skiffs and two canvas boats entered the Glades
from Fort Shackelford in the middle of the peninsula
about forty miles south of Lake Okechobee. They
expected to travel five miles a day, but even this low
rate could not be maintained. Four days after starting
it became necessary to leave behind one of the skiffs
and some of the baggage. Leaders and laborers
worked alike, often standing waist deep in water and
The Everglades 167

muck, cutting away the saw grass to make an opening
for the boats, which they then shoved ahead by main
strength. At times portages were unavoidable, and
the men had to carry the boats’ cargoes on their backs.
A burden bearer would frequently get into a mudhole
up to his waist, and was only able to extricate himself
by laying hold of a boat.

The party camped at night on small islands when
they could, but if none was available some slept in the
boats, and others cut saw grass, piled it on that which
was growing, and spread over the pile heavy rubber
blankets, thus contriving a rude swaying bed. Sev-
‘eral of the men gave out from incessant and arduous
labor, and provisions ran short so that only half ra-
tions were served, eked out by terrapin and a few fish
and birds procured along the way. More baggage
was abandoned. Distant Indian fires had been seen
from time to time, and on April 4th the men saw and
hailed an old Seminole whom they persuaded to guide
them to Miami. There they arrived haggard and
exhausted three days later.

The easiest natural approaches to the Glades are
by way of the New River and the Miami on the east
coast. The other outlets afford only difficult pathways
at best. The New River flows forth in a somewhat
sweeping but gentle stream. The Miami has worn
for itself a way through the rocky rim of the great
basin, and comes tumbling in a noisy flood down a
ten foot fall in three hundred yards.
168 Highways and Byways of Florida

There is undoubtedly agricultural value in the
rich deposit of mud at the bottom of the great inland
lagoon, and if the water could be withdrawn the region
would attract population and be marvelously pro-
ductive. The reclamation of theeEverglades has been
a subject of public discussion from almost the time of
Florida’s acquisition by the United States. The
first contract for draining the region was made in
1881, and work continued for several years, but with-
out very important results. In 1906 the task was
resumed, and considerable progress has been made
in opening canals to the coast. It is estimated that
the work now under way will make available one
million acres of land particularly adapted to raising
sugar-cane, oranges, and garden truck.

The drainage channels that have been opened make
crossing the Everglades a favorite trip for Florida
tourists. There is considerable advantage for sight-
seers in having a short route across the lower part
of the state, but the novelty of it is the chief attraction.
The usual course is between Fort Myers and West
Palm Beach. You leave Fort Myers in a little launch
which goes up the Caloosahatchee. The river is
broad at first, but after a while becomes narrow and
tortuous. You stop for the night at the village of
Labelle on the borders of the Everglades. The next
morning you go on up the river and through a canal
to Lake Okechobee. The canals have lowered the
water of the lake so that it is very shallow and has a
The Everglades 169

broad border of exposed bottom. Several little light-
houses have been erected to guide the boats across it.
Late in the day you arrive at West Palm Beach.

Some authorities consider the Seminole dwellers
of the Everglades the most picturesque Indians in the
United States. Their strange environment, their
habits of living, and their dress are all romantically
interesting. For more than a decade after the seven
years’ war ended in 1842 they continued in their
wilderness retreat unmolested. Then some engineers,
engaged in a government survey of Florida, camped
not far from the home of Old Billy Bowlegs, the leading
chief of his tribe. One day Old Billy was dismayed
to find that marauders had been in his garden and
deliberately cut and torn to pieces some banana
plants which were the pride of his heart. When he
went to the engineers’ camp to complain, the men
admitted that the deed was theirs, but insolently re-
fused to make amends. As a result the Indians went
on the warpath, and the cost to the government was
a number of lives and thousands of dollars. At the
end of three years Old Billy Bowlegs and a band of
one hundred and fifty men, women, and children were
induced to emigrate.

The Seminoles at present in the Everglades probably
do not number over three hundred. They do not
make much of a showing in the vast expanse of the
Everglades that they inhabit. If you journeyed into
that watery wilderness you might travel scores of
170 Highways and Byways of Florida

miles and not see an Indian. They live in small
widely separated colonies that usually consist of five
or six families. A typical camp covers about an acre
of dry land. The ordinary dwelling, consists of six
upright poles, three on a side, -and a gable roof of
palmetto thatch. It has an earthen floor, and the
main articles of furniture are large tables which nearly
fill the interior, and on which the Indians eat and
sleep. There are chests to hold clothes and tools and
guns, barrels and boxes for provisions, and a sewing
machine. An old sheet or blanket generally hangs
down on the northerly side in winter to keep out the
winds and rain. In the center of the camp is a circular
shed used for cooking. Under this is a fire from which
logs radiate like spokes from the hub of a wheel. As
the ends burn away, the logs are pushed toward the
center.

Any one is welcome to share the Indians’ food with
them at mealtime. The standard dish is a stew made
by cooking meat in a large kettle and thickening it
with vegetables and meal. A spoon is placed in the
kettle, and each person takes a single mouthful in
turn, or you can reach in with your fingers and help
yourself. When food is plentiful the stew kettle is
seldom empty.

The squaws wear long calico dresses of blue or
brown that have bright bands of red or yellow. Their
most cherished ornaments are strings of colored beads.
The beads are about the size of a small pea, and the
The Everglades _ 171

preferred colors are turquoise blue and a light red.
A string of beads is given to the girl baby by the time
she is a year old, and each notable event in her life
is made an occasion for giving her more beads. But
in advanced age some are taken away. There are
women who carry as much as twenty-five pounds of
these beads around their necks. They always go
without head covering and barefooted. Silver coins
are frequently beaten into various designs and fashioned
into jewelry for personal adornment.

The men acquire store clothes such as the whites
wear, but have an antipathy for trousers. Their
habits are so amphibious that they prefer bare legs.
Some still dress in the old Seminole manner, and have
a tunic tied on with a bright sash, and a red turban
made of a shawl or many handkerchiefs. An Indian
will frequently wear half a dozen shirts at the same
time. Silver earrings are worn very generally by men,
women and children.

In the vicinity of the habitations is a little clearing
where are raised scanty crops of corn, squashes, sweet
potatoes, and sugar-cane. Chickens and razor-back
hogs run about wild.

An old cane mill is used to extract the juice of the
sugar cane, and this juice is transformed into whiskey
by means of a still, crudely constructed from an iron
pot with a wooden cover, a length of iron pipe, and a
box of water. When under the influence of liquor the
Seminole is quarrelsome, bites like a dog, fights with
172 Highways and Byways of Florida

his companions and all the members of his family,
but seldom with white men whom he fears even when
drunk. On occasions of carousal one of the Indians
always keeps sober to look after the others. After
a spree in a town of the whites, as soon as the drinkers
recover their usual gravity and gentleness, they dis-
appear into the Everglades fastnesses as silently as
they came. The Indian has a mysterious ability to
cross the Everglades at will. When the water is high
he can pole his dugout the entire width of the saw
grass waste in four days. But he is not a satisfactory
guide, for he is easily discouraged and lacks resource-
fulness. If the route through the Everglades is made
difficult by low water, and canoes have to be hauled
through mud and saw grass, the Indian is apt to
conclude that he is sick and needs whiskey. If the
liquor is not forthcoming he at once gives up his job,
quite regardless of all contracts.

Some of the men occasionally work for truck farmers,
but most of the tribe regard such employment with
haughty disdain. Nor are the willing ones dependable
as laborers. An Indian who refused to do some light
field work at a dollar a day readily accepted an offer
of a moderate sum for capturing a live otter wanted
by a zoo, without trap marks or other injury. He
spent several weeks in securing the creature, and it
bit his thumb half off, yet he seemed satisfied with
a compensation that was far less than he could have
earned hoeing tomatoes.
ssaagdhy Big ayy ur Suraouvy

 
 

A trapper’s home in the Everglades. The cabin is built of
cypress bark and palmetto leaves
The Everglades 173

One of the Indians told a white man that he would
like to go to school, and that he wanted to attend for
two weeks.

“Two weeks are not enough,” the white man com-
mented. ‘You must go a long time to learn.”

“No,” the Indian responded, “‘me smart—learn
plenty in two weeks.”

A Seminole who was asked if he ever prayed, re-
plied: “Um, um, me hunt two, three days, get no deer;
have big talk to Great Spirit—get deer. Me want
go in canoe—no water; me talk to Great Spirit—water
come plenty. Injun, he buy iron pot and pipe and
sugar-cane water—make much whiskey. Me tell
him stop. He no stop. Drink, drink, drink, all same
like white man. Me bury him; then say lilly bit
prayer.”

The Everglades Indians show little inclination to
adopt the religion of the white race. Missionaries
rarely allow a savage to escape them, but they find
the Seminoles peculiarly elusive. Not many years ago
a missionary settled near an Indian encampment,
whereupon the natives moved to the recesses of the
Big Cypress Swamp, and declared they would go still
farther if the missionary followed.

The Seminoles have an annual Corn Dance that
begins with the new moon in June and lasts from ten
to twenty days. On the night of the full moon they
dance around the festal pole from sunset until sunrise.
The dancing is not as a whole very spirited. Those
174 Highways and Byways of Florida

who take part walk around in a circle about thirty
yards in diameter, and talk, until, at the signal of a
scream, they jump up and down. Sometimes the
younger girls vary the performance by a rough-and-
tumble wrestling match. Casualties are not uncommon
during these festivities. On one occasion Jimmy
Jumper ran amuck and killed five Indians before he
himself was shot down.

Marriage ties are lightly regarded. One squaw
got drunk and pounded her husband. He did not
strike back, but left her and the camp, and married
a widow who was a score of years his senior, and had
six children. The tribe inflicted no additional pun-
ishment.

Implicit obedience to their leaders is one of the
Indian traits. If a man sentenced to death is granted
permission to go to town for a few days he is sure to
return at the time appointed for him to be the chief
figure in an execution.

A Seminole often takes the medicine of the white
man for slight attacks of illness, but in serious cases
he calls in the medicine man of his own people. One
of the worst foes of the tribe is measles, which easily
becomes epidemic. If the disease itself does not ter-
minate the life of the sufferers, the medicine man
puts in the finishing strokes with his mummery. By
means of bleedings, poultices, and dosings he disposes
of the disease and patient both.

The dead are left on top of the ground wrapped in
The Everglades 175

blankets, and further protected by a pen built over
the body. When a man’s squaw dies he wears his
shirt till it rots off. When a squaw loses her husband
she refrains from combing her hair for three months.
Aside from these formalities little reverence is shown
for the dead; and when Tom Tiger’s grave was robbed,
and his bones taken for exhibition, the Indians were
indifferent.

Surveyors are beginning to invade the Seminole
country. Lumber, bark, and fruit-growing companies
are gaining a foothold. Hunters roam over the pre-
serves in increasing numbers, and the state is going
ahead energetically with drainage projects. The In-
dians have become anxious over their future as they
see the water in the Everglades receding, game becom-
ing scarcer, and the white men locating on more and
more of what was formerly an almost inaccessible wilder-
ness to civilized humanity. Some adjustment must be
made for them, but negotiation with them is not easy,
for their general opinion of the whites is that they are
“no good and lie too much.”
XI

SOME NATURALIST VISITORS

have been without a keen desire to visit Florida.

Its very name has charm for them, and the state
is associated with much that is delectable in weather,
fruit, and flowers. It fascinates too with its almost
tropical scenery and with the strange denizens of its
woodlands and its waters.

The earliest of our notable naturalists to go to
Florida was John Bartram of Philadelphia. He was
the first American botanist, and the greatest in the
world of his time. After Great Britain acquired Florida
from Spain in 1765 he was appointed Botanist to his
Majesty George III for the newly ceded territory, and
although he had nearly reached the age of threescore
and ten, he hastened to visit that land whose name
boded so well for his beloved science. With several
companions he ascended the St. Johns in an open boat
as far as Lake George, daily noting down his experiences
and observations. He was not a writer of much polish
or originality of expression, but he was simple and
genuine and deeply interested in the new phases of

nature that the trip revealed tohim. The following ex-
176

Prrsere few, if any, American nature lovers
Some Naturalist Visitors 177

tracts from his diary include the chief incidents of his
primitive voyage:

“December the 19th, 1765, set out from St. Augus-
tine early in the morning, which was frosty, the ground
being covered with a white hoar frost.

“20th. Set out for Robert Davis’s, whose son the
governor had ordered to take us to search for the head
of the river St. Johns; and having necessaries provided,
I, my son William, Mr. Yates, and Mr. Davis, em-
barked in a battoe. Mr. Davis was not only to con-
duct us, but also to hunt venison for us, and his
negro was to row and cook, the governor bearing our
expenses.

“24th. Cold morning, thermometer 50°, wind north-
west. Blowed pretty fresh, but ceased toward night.
Landed, and Mr. Davis shot a deer, and his negro a
turkey. I and my son walked in the woods to observe
the soil and plants with a man that went to fell some
trees for honey. He felled one that contained only
some yellow wasps that had taken up their winter
quarters in a pine tree. We then walked to another
hollow tree, wherein was a swarm of bees and some
honey: Both white people and Indians often find
great quantities of honey and wax, even ten gallons
out of one tree. The Indians eat much of it with their
venison and sour oranges, of which they cut off one end,
then pour the honey into the pulp, and scoop both out
as a relishing morsel.

“26th. Thermometer temperate. Fine day. Wind
178 Highways and Byways of Florida

south. Excellent swamps on both sides of the river.
Turkeys and alligators plenty.

“27th. Landed on a high bluff on the east side of the
river, then travelled on foot along thick woody ground.
We came down a steep hill, twenty foot high and four
or five hundred yards from the river, under the foot
of which issued a large fountain (big enough to turn a
mill) of warm clear water of a very offensive taste, and
smelt like bilge-water, or the washings of a gun-barrel.
The sediment that adhered to the trees fallen therein,
looked of a pale white or bluish cast.

“28th. Saw many alligators, and killed one. ’Tis
certain that both jaws open by a joint nearly alike.

“29th. Fish jumping continually.

“31st. We now came to plenty of the tree palmetto,
which the inhabitants call cabbage tree.

“January the Ist, 1766. Hazy morning; ther-
mometer 52. River here 9 foot deep in the channel.
Thermometer 72° P. M.

“2d. White frost on the boat. Thermometer 35.
We climbed a tree, from which we had a prospect of
an extensive marsh.

“3d. Clear cold morning. Thermometer 26. 'The
ground was frozen an inch thick on the river banks.
This was the fatal night that destroyed the lime, citron,
and banana trees in St. Augustine, many curious ever-
greens up the river, and flowering plants and shrubs
never before hurt.

‘ath. We came to a creek up which we rowed a mile
Some Naturalist Visitors 179

in four and six foot water, of the color of the sea, tasting
sweetish and loathsome, warm and very clear. The
spring-head is about thirty yards broad, and boils up
from the bottom like a pot. Multitudes of fish resort
toit. The alligators very numerous either on the shore
or swimming on the surface of the water, and some on
the bottom, so tame, or rather bold, as to allow us to
row very near to them.

“sth. Rainy morning. Stayed at Mount Joy. This
mount is formed of snail and mussel shells, and is eight
or ten foot perpendicular about one hundred and fifty
yards long and twenty broad.

“roth. The wolves howled, the first time I heard
them in Florida. We found a great nest of a wood-rat,
built of long pieces of dry sticks, near four foot high
and five in diameter, all laid confusedly together. On
stirring the sticks a large rat ran out and up a high
sapling with a young one hanging to its tail.

“tath. The river weeds and reeds stopped our battoe,
and we returned to the hammock where we lodged last
night.

“13th. Set out homeward.

“4th. Our hunter killed a large he-bear, supposed
to weigh four hundred pounds. His skin, when
stretched measured five foot and a half long and four
foot ten inches in breadth. He yielded fifteen or six-
teen gallons of clear oil. Two of us had never eat an
ounce of bear’s meat before, but we found it to our
surprise very mild and sweet. We had a fat young
180 Highways and Byways of Florida

buck and three turkeys fresh shot at the same time,
and some boiled with the bear, but we chose the last
for its good relish.

“sth. The morning was very warm and a little
showery. The muskitoes were troublesome last night,
and this morning the flies blowed our meat before ten
o’clock; the ticks creeping, and lizards running about
our tent. We stayed all day to barbecue our meat, which
would soon spoil if not preserved either by fire or salt.

“16th. Very cold windy day; soour hunters rendered
the bear’s oil, and stretched and dried the skin.

“ 7th. We came to a fine rich dry bluff, four foot
above the water. Here we cut down three tall poles
or cabbage trees, and cut out the top bud, the white
tender rudiments of the great leaves. This tender part
will be three or four inches in diameter tapering near a
foot. This they slice into a pot and stew with water,
then, when a!most tender, pour some bear’s oil into it,
and stew it a little longer, when it eats pleasantand much
more mild than a cabbage. I never eat half so much
cabbage at a time, and it agreed the best with me of any
sauce I ever eat, either alone or with meat. Our hunt-
ers frequently eat it raw, and will live on it several
days. The small palmetto yields a white bud no bigger
than one’s finger, which is eaten by men, bears, and
horses, in case of great need. This situation pleased me
so much we called it Bartram’s Bluff.

“18th. This night was very warm, and the muskitoes
troublesome, so that we smoked our tent twice.
Some Naturalist Visitors 181

“19th. Fine warm morning, birds singing, fish jump-
ing, and turkeys gobbling.

“sth. I found a very large rattlesnake sunning him-
self,

“27th. We landed on a low bluff of mussel and snail-
shells. Here, as well as in most other places on any
high dry bank on the river or its banches where the soil
is good, are found fragments of old Indian pots and
orange trees, which clearly demonstrate that the
Florida Indians inhabited every fertile spot on St.
Johns river, lakes, and branches. We encamped
on a bed of long tree-moss to preserve us from the
low damp ground, which is very unpleasant and
dangerous.

“February the 12th. We arrived at Mr. Davis’s near
night, and next morning set out for St. Augustine.”

About two-thirds of a century later Audubon spent
several months in Florida. He was the chief American
ornithologist of his generation, and one of the most
winsome, interesting, and picturesque characters that
this country has produced. He was an artist and a
backwoodsman seeking adventure and the opportunity
to put on record in drawings and in words his love of the
birds. When he went to Florida he was already famous,
and he was accompanied by assistants and had the
sanction of the United States navy to do some of his
touring on government vessels.

November 15, 1831, he sailed from Charleston to
St. Augustine, where he spent about three weeks,
182 Highways and Byways of Florida

then went down to Bulowville, fifty miles away, partly
by boat and partly afoot. Late in December he made:
an excursion by way of a creek, eleven miles to the
Halifax River, and south on that to Live Oak Landing
eighty miles from St. Augustine. Eight other persons
went with him, but six of them were negroes to row
the boat.

At sunrise, the morning after they reached the
landing, Audubon with four of the colored servants
started in search of birds. He says: “‘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 headway?
So it was; the waters were filled with them, large and
small. The birds appeared wild and few. You must
be aware that I call birds few when I shoot less than
one hundred per day.”

This remark might convey the impression that
Audubon was a reckless destroyer of all bird life; but
it must be remembered that he was not only seeking
birds to describe and draw, but counted on defraying
a part of his expenses by selling their skins to museums.

When the party started on the return journey to
Bulowville, both tide and wind were against them
and there was a prospect of chilly weather. The day
came to an end while they were still struggling north-
ward. Moreover, the wind freshened and the cold
increased. Worst of all, they presently found themselves
fast in the mud about three hundred yards from a
Some Naturalist Visitors 183

marshy shore. They rolled themselves in their cloaks
and lay down in the boat, but to sleep was impossible.
At last morning came. The bitter northeaster still
blew, and every one was stiffened with cold and nearly
exhausted. In order to get to the shore they leaped
into the water and mud, waist deep, and spent two
hours and a half in pushing the boat a quarter of a
mile to a point where a few scrubby trees grew.

On arriving at the margin of the marsh, two of the
negroes fell in the mud as senseless as torpidity ever
rendered an alligator. The others carried them into
the little grove, and started a fire around which the
shivering party gathered. They wrapped the two
negroes in blankets, and made some tea which they
forced them to swallow, and so revived them.

At length they manned the boat again, and got it
off through the mud. Such was their joy when it
was once more afloat that they set fire to the marsh.
Crack, crack, crack! went the reeds with a rapid
blaze, and they saw the marsh rabbits scampering
from the fire by thousands as they pulled at their oars.

When they entered the creek they found it well-
nigh emptied of water by the gale, and for a second
time they were obliged to wade to get to land. They
abandoned the boat and began a long tramp on the
shore through sand that sent their feet back six inches
at every step. But finally they reached the landing
of the Bulow plantation, and then their strenuous
journey soon ended.
184 Highways and Byways of Florida

A few days afterward Audubon, accompanied by a
Scotch engineer who was employed by the planters
of the region in erecting sugar-house establishments,
set forth inland to visit a spring of which wonderful
tales were told. They were mounted on horses of the
Indian breed, remarkable for their activity and strength,
and they carried guns and provisions. No sooner had
they left the “King’s Road” than they entered a
thicket of scrubby oaks, that was presently succeeded
by a still denser mass of low palmettos, among the
roots of which their nags had difficulty in maintaining
a safe footing. At times the palmettos so covered the
narrow Seminole trail they followed that it was no
easy matter to keep to it, and they were unable to go
faster than two and a half miles an hour. But by and
by they came to pine barrens and sand, with here and
there large tracts grown up to tall grasses. Wherever
the land was a little below the general level it was
covered with cypress trees whose spreading arms
were hung with Spanish moss. The country was very
flat as far as the eye could reach, presenting always
the same wild scraggy aspect. Now and then they
passed through muddy pools in which their horses
sank to the saddle-girth.

But as they went on they entered a more elevated
and undulating region where there were beautiful
lakes which became larger and more numerous the
farther the travelers advanced. They saw many tor-
toises basking in the sun along the lake shores, and, as
Some Naturalist Visitors 185

they approached, the creatures plunged into the water.
Late in the day they arrived at a plantation seven miles
from the St. Johns, and there they spent the night.

The next day the planter guided them to the cele-
brated spring, of which Audubon says, “The water
is quite transparent, but so impregnated with sulphur
that it emits an odor which to me is highly nauseous.”
It had a circular basin with a diameter of about sixty
feet. A deep and broad channel called Spring Garden
Creek conveyed the water to a neighboring lake.

The planter took Audubon in a boat down the
creek, and they saw ibises, coots, and cormorants on
its surface or along its margin, and numerous alliga-
tors swimming in the water. Overhead the fish-hawks
were sailing, and on the broken trees they saw many
of their nests. They crossed the little lake into which
the creek emptied, and followed a continuation of the
stream to Lake Woodruff. There they landed, Audubon
says, ‘“‘on a small island covered with wild orange
trees, the luxuriance and freshness of which were not
less pleasing to the sight than the perfume of their
flowers was to the smell.” Under the shade of the
trees, and amidst the golden fruits that covered the
ground, while the humming-birds fluttered through
the foliage, the party ate their lunch.

The naturalist further comments on the region:
“T felt unquiet, as if I were almost on the verge of
creation, where realities were tapering off into nothing.
The general wildness, the eternal labyrinths of waters
186 Highways and Byways of Florida

and marshes, had a tendency to depress my spirits,
notwithstanding some beautiful flowers, rich looking
fruits, and a pure sky.”

In concluding the narrative of this inland excursion
he remarks that “the planter aided by the Scotch
engineer directed the current of the spring so as to
turn a mill, which suffices to grind the whole of his
sugar-cane.”

Audubon soon returned to St. Augustine, and in
February went from there on a government schooner
up the coast to the St. Johns River. As the vessel
entered the river in the early morning he watched the
numerous pelicans that had been frightened from
their resting grounds flying on high. Farther along
he saw myriads of cormorants covering the face of the
waters, and countless fish-crows were arriving from
their distant roosts. In many places the shores were
low and swampy, to the great delight of the abounding
herons and the grim alligators.

On the evening of the twelth of the month the
schooner anchored fully one hundred miles from the
mouth of the river. The mercury stood at ninety
degrees. ‘‘Blind mosquitoes” covered every object,
even in the cabin. So wonderfully abundant were they
that they more than once extinguished the candles
while Audubon was writing his journal. Finally he
closed it in despair, crushing between the leaves more
than a hundred of the little wretches. Luckily these
blind mosquitoes did not bite.
Some Naturalist Visitors 187

Toward noon, the next day, while the vessel was
gliding along on its voyage, a Seminole Indian ap-
proached in his canoe. He had spent the night fishing,
and the morning in procuring the game of the swampy
thickets. He dexterously threw his fish and turkeys
on the deck of the schooner, received a recompense,
and swiftly departed without an acknowledgment of
any kind.

The schooner was to remain for some time on the
upper river, and Audubon hired two men to row him
forty miles down to where he was opposite St. Augus-
tine. Then, accompanied by his assistants and a
Newfoundland dog, he started across country on foot,
following a narrow, but well-beaten path that had
been used by the Indians for ages. The weather was
calm and beautiful, but they had eighteen miles to go,
and the sun was only two hours high. Presently they
entered a pine-barren. Now and then a rivulet oc-
curred, from which they quenched their thirst, and the
magnolias and flowering plants on its banks relieved
the dull uniformity of the woods.

The sun went down, and a breeze which sprang up
sounded dolefully among the tall pines. Along the
eastern horizon lay a bed of black vapor, which grad-
ually rose and covered the heavens. The air felt hot
and oppressive. Audubon’s dog was now their guide.
He kept a little ahead of them on the trail, and the
white spots on his coat were the only objects they
could discern amid the darkness.
188 Highways and Byways of Florida

Large drops began to fall from the murky mass
above, vivid flashes of lightning streamed across the
heavens, the wind increased to a gale, and the rain
poured down like a torrent. The water soon rose on
the level ground so as to almost cover their feet, but
they continued to advance, fronting the tempest. At
length the storm passed on, and there was clear sky
overhead spangled with stars. Not long afterward
they descried the light of the beacon near St. Augus-
tine. They were now on ground where the dog had
hunted, and he led them directly to the great causeway
that crossed the marshes at the back of the town. So
they soon arrived at their hotel, drenched with rain,
steaming with perspiration, and covered to the knees
with mud.

Audubon’s next and last Florida excursion was in a
revenue cutter down the East Coast. He visited the
islands all the way down to Key West, and from there
voyaged eighty miles westerly to the Tortugas. These
islands consist of low banks of shelly sand that were
resorted to principally by turtles and that class of men
called wreckers. The turtles came to the banks to
deposit their eggs in the burning sand, and clouds of
sea-fowl arrived every spring to make their nests on
the isles. There came also at this season men com-
monly spoken of as eggers, who, when their cargoes
were completed, sailed away to market their plunder.

When the revenue cutter approached the Tortugas
in the early hours of the night, Audubon observed the
Some Naturalist Visitors 189

heavily-laden turtles slowly advancing landward, with
only their heads above the water. He could dimly see
their broad forms as they toiled along, anxious to de-
posit their eggs in the well-known sands, and at inter-
vals he heard their hurried breathings.

After spending a few days among the islands in his
customary manner, shooting birds, drawing pictures
of them, and skinning them, he returned to St. Au-
gustine, and about the middle of April brought his
Florida tour to a close by sailing for Savannah.

Another notable naturalist who had interesting things
to say about Florida was John Muir. At the age
of twenty-nine, in October, 1867, he approached by
sea Fernandina in the extreme northeast corner of
the state. He was eager to ramble and botanize, and
expected to find a flowery Canaan. As the steamer
drew near port he saw a flat, watery, reedy coast,
with clumps of mangrove, and forests of moss-dressed
strange trees. He landed on a rickety wharf, and a
few steps took him to the town. After buying some
bread at a baker’s, he made for the shady woodland.

Presently he stopped where a dry spot was formed
by a heap of grass and broken roots, something like a
deserted muskrat house. As he lay there eating his
bread, gazing at and listening to the profound strange-
ness, he was startled by a rustling sound behind him.
He turned and saw “‘a tall white crane, handsome as
a minister from spirit land.”

Muir started to cross the state by a gap hewn for the
190 Highways and Byways of Florida

locomotive, stepping along from tie to tie between the
rails, or walking on the strip of sand at the sides, peer-
ing into the mysterious forest. When a new grass, or
a gorgeous flower belonging to tree or vine would
catch his attention he would splash through the coffee
brown water for specimens. Often he was tangled in
a labyrinth of armed vines like a fly in a spider-web,
or he sank so deep that he was compelled to turn back
and try in another place.

He was meeting so many strange plants that he was
much excited; but the grandest discovery of the “‘great
wild day” was a palmetto. It stood in a grassy place
almost alone, and was “‘wonderfully impressive.” He
describes it as having “‘a plain gray shaft, round as a
broom-handle, and a crown of varnished, channeled
leaves”; but, whether rocking and rustling in the wind,
or poised thoughtful and calm in the sunshine it had
a marvelous power of expression.

Night came while he was still in the trackless woods.
He gave up hope of finding food or a house bed, and
searched only for a dry spot on which to sleep. For
hours he walked rapidly in the wet level woods, while
all manner of night sounds greeted his ears from strange
insects and beasts. When he came to an open place
where pines grew, it was about ten o’clock, and he
thought that now he would find dry ground. But even
the sandy barren was wet, and he had to grope in the
dark a long time, feeling the earth with his hands
when his feet ceased to plash, before he discovered a
Some Naturalist Visitors IQI

little hillock dry enough to sleep on. He ate a piece of
bread that was left in his bag, drank some of the brown
water about his hillock, and lay down. Hollow-voiced
owls pronounced their gloomy speeches with profound
emphasis, but did not prevent sleep coming to heal
his weariness.

In the morning, cold and wet with dew, he set out
breakfastless, watching for a house, and at the same
time observing the grand assemblies of novel plants.
About mid-forenoon he came to a shanty where a party
of loggers were getting out long pines for ship spars,
and they gave him a portion of their pork and hominy.

A few hours later he dined with three men and three
dogs, after being attacked viciously by the latter. The
dogs undertook to undress him with their teeth, and
nearly dragged him down backward, but he escaped
unbitten.

As he went on he saw a place on the margin of a
stagnant pool where an alligator had been rolling and
sunning himself. He remarks that many good people
believe alligators were created by the devil, thus ac-
counting for their all-consuming appetite and ugliness;
and he mentions hearing of one big fellow that was
caught young and was partially civilized and made to
work in harness.

He found the Florida streams without banks or defi-
nite channels, and their waters as black as ink in deep
places. It was often difficult to ascertain which way
they were flowing or creeping, so slowly and so widely
192 Highways and Byways of Florida

did they circulate through the woodland swamps and
tree-tangles. He says that “‘most streams appear to
travel through a country with thoughts and plans for
something beyond, but those of Florida do not seem to
be traveling at all.”

The country was so level that he fancied little grad-
ing was required for roads, but much bridging of water-
ways and much boring of tunnels through forests.

One night, after a long day’s tramp, he noticed a light
off in the pine woods. He was very thristy, and he went
toward the light in the hope of obtaining water. When he
drew near, he found a big glowing log fire illuminating
the overleaning bushes and trees and making still darker
the surrounding woods. By the fire sat a negro and
his wife at supper, and close at hand lay a naked little
boy. Muir was given water in a gourd, and after drink-
ing resumed his walk thinking, ‘‘Surely I am now coming
to the tropics, where the inhabitants wear nothing but
their own skins.”

A little farther on he came to Gainesville which
seemed to him an oasis in the desert compared with
other villages.

He was much impressed by the magnolias, and speaks
of “the easy dignified simplicity of this noble tree, its
plain leaf endowed with superb richness of color and
form, its open branches festooned with graceful vines
and moss, its showy crimson fruit, and its magnifi-
cent fragrant white flowers.” In his opinion it is the
most lovable of Florida trees.
Deep Creek, a tributary of the St. Johns

©) Detroit Publishing Co.

 
 

A Florida waterside
Some Naturalist Visitors 193

The night of the 2oth he arrived at the house of a
hospitable ex-Confederate officer, and there he stayed
several days. The most notable incident of his stay
was a visit to a palmetto hammock seven miles long
and three broad. To get to it he went across the farm
fields and followed a wavering path through a jungle of
cat-briers and on across a broad swamp where the trail
made a good many abrupt turns to avoid deep water,
fallen trees, or impenetrable thickets. But at last he
suddenly emerged from the leafy darkness of the swamp
forest, and came forth on a level area of grasses and
sedges, well starred with flowers, and bounded by a
wall of vine-laden trees. He walked enchanted among
the palmettos. There was grandeur and nobility in
their character.

After some hours he started on the return journey,
but sought in vain for the trail. At length he took a
compass bearing and pushed on through the swamp in
a direct line through the jungle tanglement with much
wading of opaque pools and lagoons. But he knew that
he could not penetrate the army of cat-briers, and that
he must find the narrow slit of a lane before dark or
spend the night with mosquitoes and alligators. Finally
he arrived at the grand cat-brier encampment and
scrambled back and forth unavailingly in search of an
opening. There was not even a strip of dry ground on
which to rest. He began to think of building some
sort of a scaffold in a tree on which he might pass the
night, but concluded to endeavor once more to discover
194 Highways and Byways of Florida

the narrow track. So he made a long exploration to
the left down the brier line, and after scrambling a mile
or more gained the blessed trail and escaped to dry land.
He reached his host’s at sundown.

Muir arrived at Cedar Keys on the 23d, and decided
he wanted to go from there by boat to Cuba. By in-
quiring in a little store which had a considerable trade
in quinine and in alligator and rattlesnake skins, he
learned that a vessel would leave in about two weeks.
Then he interviewed a sawmill owner and agreed to
work for him until he sailed. But the next day he began/
to be weighed down by a leaden numbness which hei
tried to shake off for three days by bathing in the Gulf,’
by dragging himself about among the palmettos, plants,
and strange shells of the shore, and by doing a little
mill work. On the third day he could take no nourish-
ment, but craved acid. Cedar Keys was only a mile
or two distant from the mill, and he managed to walk
thither to buy lemons. The malaria grew worse in-
stead of better, and the kind-hearted mill-owner took
him to his own house, and gave him the best of care
while he lay sick for more than two months.

As soon as he was able to get out of bed he crept to
the edge of a wood, and sat day after day beneath the
ample arms of some great moss-draped live-oaks, listen-
ing to the winds and the birds. Later he gained strength
enough to sail in a little skiff from one key to another.
Close by his loitering-place under the oaks was an ex-
tensive shallow which the tide exposed daily. This was
Some Naturalist Visitors 195

the feeding-ground of thousands of waders of all sizes,
plumage, and language.

In time of high tide some of them went in large flocks
to reedy margins about the islands and waded and stood
about quarreling or making sport, occasionally finding
a stray mouthful to eat. Some perched on the man-
groves of the shore, now and then plunging into the
water after a fish. Some went long journeys up creeks
and inlets. A few lonely old herons of solemn look re-
tired to favorite oaks. Those islets which had sedgy
margins furnished a favorite retreat for the pelicans that
frequently whitened the shore like a rim of foam.

Muir found the average temperature during the day
in December, was sixty-five degrees in the shade, but
one day a little damp snow fell. His Florida stay came
to an end early in January, when he left Cedar Keys on
a schooner bound for Cuba.

Another famous naturalist who has sojourned in
Florida is John Burroughs. He has commented with
regret that so much of the pine forest should be “‘hag-
gled, burned and wasted,” by lumbering and turpentine
operations and by the country dwellers’ annual fires
to make pasturage for their roving cattle. He has ex-
pressed surprise, too, at the St. Johns River cows in
the stream eating water hyacinth, or reaching up to
browse the Spanish moss drooping from the trees. This
made him wonder whether with the passing of geologic
ages they would develop into aquatic animals or tree
climbing animals.
XII

THE WEATHER AND OTHER CHARACTERISTICS

the Peninsula State. It is the largest com-

monwealth east of the Mississippi with the
exception of Georgia, which exceeds it in size to a very
slight degree. Its length from north to south is about
four hundred and fifty miles and its northern portion
extends nearly four hundred miles east and west. No
other state can rival its coast line of 1146 miles. Much
the larger part of the coast is washed by the Gulf of
Mexico. Except in the beautiful Tallahassee region
the land is level or only gently rolling, and the pic-
turesqueness of a hill country is lacking. Louisiana
is the only state which has a lower average elevation.
The highest point is Mount Pleasant in the extreme
northern part near the southwest corner of Georgia.
This “mountain” attains an altitude of three hundred
and one feet.

“From what I have observed, I should think Florida
was nine-tenths water, and the other tenth swamp,”
one tourist has said. This rather accurately describes
some portions of it, and lakes and watercourses abound
nearly everywhere. ‘The rivers, creeks, and canals,
and the myriad lakes and lagoons are so connected

196

Pree is called the Everglade State, and also
Some Characteristics 197

that a canoe or light draft launch can traverse them
in any direction throughout the length and breadth
of the peninsula. Nor can you follow the waterways
far without encountering some kind of wild creature
interesting for its own sake, and perhaps legitimate
prey for rod or gun.

Accurate knowledge of Florida as a whole has been
lacking until comparatively recently. A map of the
world published in Italy not long after the time of Co-
lumbus shows Florida as a large island in a vast ocean
that extended as far as Japan. A French map issued in
1760 represents it dotted with mountain peaks almost
to the southern extremity. Its area was formerly
much greater than now. The western boundary was the
Mississippi River and included the southern half of
what are now the states of Alabama and Mississippi.
It was divided into East and West Florida with the
Appalachicola River for the boundary line between.
St. Augustine was the seat of government in the eastern
section, and Pensacola in the western.

Spain had possessed Florida for about two centuries
when the province was ceded to Great Britain, but
it was then almost as much a wilderness as it had been
originally. There were only a few thousand inhabitants
in the limits of the present state, and nearly all of
these were in St. Augustine and Pensacola. A large
percentage of them were military and civil govern-
ment dependants who were content to live safely in
the garrisoned ports drawing their salaries for petty
198 Highways and Byways of Florida

official positions. Under English rule, which lasted
not quite twenty years, Florida prospered, and settlers
increased rapidly. Yet its condition long continued
to be that of a frontier region. By far the greater part
of its development has taken place since the Civil War.
The old towns have grown, a great number of new
towns have come into being, and all the time the
jungle has receded. But a vast deal of unimproved
land still awaits the labor of the pioneer. Only two
per cent of the Florida land is cultivated, and the
hunting is likely to be good for some time.

One of the most valuable industries of the state is
the manufacture of cigars, chiefly at Key West and
Tampa. Most of the tobacco used is imported from
Cuba. The lumber industry is also very important.
There seems to be no end to the oysters, the fish, the
sea-birds, and the turtles in the waters along the pen-
insula shores. Stories are told of such hosts of fish
in the olden times that vessels were stopped by them.
Fruit is the principal Florida crop. The realization
of the peninsula’s adaptability to the culture of oranges
about 1875 was the beginning of the state’s modern
agricultural development. But the unusual severity
of the winters of 1887, 1894, and 1899 destroyed three-
fourths of the orange trees and turned attention to
other crops and to stock-raising. Orange culture has
recovered much of its ascendency, but is carried on
farther south than before. Not all the yearly output
of gold in Nevada and Arizona would equal the wealth
Some Characteristics 199

that goes to Florida for her fruits and vegetables.
Enough oranges and grapefruit are produced by her
groves each winter to pay back the five million dollars
that the United States gave Spain for Florida in 1821.
Florida is the most accessible of our nation’s play-
grounds to the mass of the people, and fifty thousand
persons visit it each year. Here, beyond the reach
of snow and ice, they hunt, fish, or loaf, or they speed
automobiles over ocean beaches as hard and smooth
as a floor. They can play golf and tennis at the fash-
ionable resorts, or embark in canoes to explore the
depths of the wilderness, or adventure in a launch
among the coral keys. There is plenty of occupation
and amusement for all tastes and ages, and for those
of slender means as well as for those of wealth.
Statistics are said to prove that Florida cruising is
safer than staying at home. Taking cold seems to be
impossible, although the voyagers do not hesitate to
go overboard without the least hesitation to push the
boat off a bar, help fish with nets, or dive for clams.
The story is told of a young woman member of a cruis-
ing party, who was remonstrated with for her over in-
dulgence in bathing. This was one evening as she was
enjoying the surf after having been in the water con-
tinuously since the midday meal. She responded,
“My doctor told me it would not harm me to bathe
four hours after eating, and I’m doing it.”
Automobiles from all the states in the Union fre-
quent Florida in the cooler months. The highways
200 Highways and Byways of Florida

have been greatly improved in recent years, and in
many sections the motoring conditions are ideal.
There is a good road all the way from Jacksonville
to Pensacola, and from the former place to Tampa,
and the entire distance down the east coast to beyond
Miami.

The country roads are usually sandy. A woman
who had been a long-time resident of the state once
made a comment which may be helpfully suggestive
to pedestrians. “I found it pretty hard walking in the
sand at first,” she said, “but I learned after a while
that the best way is to set the heel down as hard as you
can. Then the sand doesn’t give under you so much,
and you get along more comfortably.”

An old Florida hotel-keeper, originally from rural
New England, is credited with this burst of confidence:
“Yes, we’ve got a climate here, and that’s about all
we have got—climate and sand.” Most people would
not entirely agree with him, though there is no doubt-
ing the sand.

Railway travel is unavoidably dusty in fair weather,
and the dust has a penetrating quality which renders
its perfect exclusion from the cars impossible. The
effect on some tourists is to make them very pessimistic
about everything. To quote one such person: “The
ride through Florida is tedious. The miles of palmettos,
with leaves glittering like racks of bared cutlasses in
the sunshine, the miles of dark swamp, the miles of
live oaks strung with their sad tattered curtains of
Some Characteristics 201

Spanish moss, the miles of sandy waste, orange groves,
of pines with feathery tops, the sifting of fine dust,
which covers everything inside the car as with a coat
of flour—these make you wish that you were North
again.”

Jacksonville is only thirty hours from New York
by fast trains, or three days by steamers. Twelve
hours more by rail takes one to the southern tip of the
state. Thus, within two days’ time, one may change
his winter environment from arctic to tropic; from a
zero mercury to one sixty or eighty degrees above; from
ice and snow to gentle skies, unchilled waters, ever-
blooming flowers, and singing birds—and all this
without leaving the mainland of the United States.

As soon as the weather begins to be wintry and dis-
agreeable in the North it begins to be a happy medium
in Florida, neither too cool nor too warm. The leading
hotels generally open early in January and close four
months later. This is the period when traveling
facilities are at their best.

The Florida climate is remarkably equable. You
do not freeze to death in winter, nor are your energies
sapped by a sizzling sun in summer. It is true that
the summer days are often hot, but invariably at sun-
down there is a breeze which makes sleeping a comfort.
The equalizing force which makes both the summer
heat and the winter cold less violent is furnished by
the Gulf Stream which flows out into the Atlantic
between Cuba and Florida. The Gulf Stream is more
202 Highways and Byways of Florida

rapid than the Mississippi or the Amazon, and its
volume is fully a thousand times as great. The water
is bluer than that of the surrounding sea, and the line
of demarkation in its earlier course is very distinct.
On either side and under its warm current is the cold
water of the rest of the sea.

The rainy season is in summer. It does not consist
of a steady downpour, but of afternoon thunder showers
which come up in the heat of the day. The normal rainy
season lasts about four months, but may continue much
longer. In winter clear days are the rule, but the
weather is variable, and sometimes there are rainy
winters and comparatively dry summers.

There are those who claim that the Florida summer
is more genial than that torrid season at the North,
that the winds are spiced with the resin of the woods,
and that it is characterized by a shining equableness
and a general blueness and balminess. Really it is
often blisteringly and blazingly hot, and smites the
toiler with irresistible languor. You seem about to
ignite, and only by means of copious drafts of water
and abundant perspiration is the conflagration pre-
vented. However, a person gets somewhat acclimated
in time, and learns to accept the heat with a degree
of equanimity so that it no longer seems an achievement
simply to exist.

I have mentioned the thunderstorms as a feature of
the summer. After a sweltering windless morning, clouds
appear in the blue, lifting higher and higher their beet-
Some Characteristics 203

ling forms like vast snow-clad mountains tops. It is a
stirring sight—the splendid energies of the air, the
sweeping of the shadows, and the dramatic bursts of
lightning. The ground trembles with the thunder and
soon the world is blotted out by the driving rain. When
the storm passes on, the tree-toads awake and begin
to rasp in every tree, and the frogs in every pool. As
the summer progresses the rains increase in frequency.
The weather falls into a lamentable aqueous intemper-
ance, the air becomes a habitat of vapors. There are
looming clouds with sluggish raindrift beneath much of
the time. The soil gradually fills and exudes water like
a soaked sponge, every hollow is transformed into a pool
or a lake. Wherever you go you must wade. When
the sun comes out it blazes on a waste of wetness, and
fills the air with steam. The stranger feels much in-
clined to abandon the country for a while to the ele-
ments and the frogs.

Florida weather has its flaws. Nevertheless, one can
live out of doors during almost every day in the year.
The cool breezes from the Atlantic or the Gulf are a
feature in summer, and sunny inviting days predomin-
ate in winter. But persons who come to Florida with
the expectation of spending their midwinter in white
linen lying on beds of roses under blossoming trees and
palms, should change this delusion for the far finer and
truer notion of a temperature just cool enough to save
a man from degenerating into a luxurious vegetable of
laziness, and just warm enough to be nerve-quieting and
204, Highways and Byways of Florida

tranquilizing. Even if it chances that you have to en-
dure a three days’ chilly drizzling rainstorm, you can
take comfort in thinking that the North is having a
driving snowstorm. When Florida has a brisk cold spell
the North has a bitter freeze.

Florida has the lowest annual death rate of any state
in the Union. Many persons are benfited by spending
the winter there, and would be still more benefited if
they made it their permanent abode. Such are those
who suffer constitutionally from cold, who are bright
and well only in hot weather, whom the Northern
winter chills and benumbs, till, in the spring they are
in the condition of a frost-bitten hot-house plant. On
the contrary, persons who are debilitated and wretched
during hot weather, and whom cool weather braces and
gives vigor have no call to Florida.

Improvement in health depends on taking advantage
of what Florida has to offer, which is life in the open
air with unlimited opportunities for activity. To keep
indoors taking no’ regular exercise, and with the mind
and body unemployed offers little chance to gain.

The climate cannot be too highly praised for children.
The winter is one long out-door play-spell for them,
and in general they are wholly free from coughs, colds,
and other ailments. They can run about, row in boats,
go fishing, and seek flowers in the woods with the
greatest possible pleasure and the least possible discom-
fort.

When you are planning a visit to the peninsula, re-
Some Characteristics 205

member that Florida women buy furs for the winter
and wear them too. It is not a land of perpetual
warmth. All the northern half of the state is more or
less subject to frosty nights, cold winds, and chilling
rains from the middle of December to the middle of
February. The likelihood of frost decreases as you go
south, but every part of the mainland gets an occasional
touch. Not until you are well down toward Key West
do you reach the frost’s limits.

The author of a book of travel published in 1839 was
detained for ten winter days at St. Augustine because
the packet schooner which ran regularly to Charleston
could not get out of the harbor on account of northeast
winds. He says: “Nothing can be worse than to find
oneself imprisoned in this little village with a cold
piercing wind drifting the sand along the streets and
into his eyes, with sometimes a chance at a fire morning
and evening, and sometimes a chance to wrap up in a
cloak and shiver without any, and many times too cold
to keep warm by walking in the sunshine. No getting
away. Blow, blow, blow! Northeast winds are sover-
eigns here, keeping everything at a standstill except the
tavern-bill, which runs against all winds and weather.
Here are forty passengers detained by the persevering
obstinacy of the tyrant wind, while its music roars along
the shore to regale us by night as well as by day, and
keep us in constant recollection of the cause of detention.

““Oh for a steamboat! that happiest invention of man,
that goes in spite of wind and tide. Talk of danger!
206 Highways and Byways of Florida

Why, rather than be detained in this manner, I would
take passage on board a balloon or a thunder-cloud.
Anything to get along.”

A recent visitor says of the northeast wind, “This
is the wind that sets everybody to swearing at his coffee
of a morning, to calling for his hotel bill, and to howling
at humanity in general.” But he adds that generally
the temperature is charming and that the prevailing
winds are so “sweet and saintly” that they are more
soothing than a calm.

Another St. Augustine weather story is of a Missouri
man. As he sat wrapped to the eyes in a big overcoat
on a bench facing the morning sun, when the ther-
mometer had dropped several degrees below the freez-
ing point, he uttered this plaint: “‘My folks told me
to leave my overcoat at home, but I wouldn’t do it.
There’s no heat in the house where I’m boarding. So
I had to come out here and sit in the sunshine; and durn
me if ’m warm now! Next time I take an excursion
in winter I'll go north. I know a stove up in Chicago
that I’ll bet is red hot this minute, and I wish I was
sitting side of it.”

A really hard frost makes black wreckage of all the
tender herbage that before flourished in green luxuri-
ance and put forth sweet-scented flowers. The vivid-
colored foliage plants in the town gardens and climbing
vines and many tall picturesque shrubs have no life
left above ground. Banana plants also are killed down
to the roots, and the fruit ruined. Thriving fields of
Some Characteristics 207

sugar cane ready for the knife are turned to a straw
brown, and the oranges and grapefruit become solid
lumps of ice. The first such freeze on record occurred
on the night of January 2, 1766, when the mercury reg-
istered twenty degrees above zero, and the ground was
frozen an inch deep. In 1740 there was a snowstorm at
St. Augustine, and again in 1835, but they did no dam-
age.

At the beginning of 1835, orange trees were the glory
of the place. It was one immense orange orchard, and
the town buildings were embosomed in the rich deep
green foliage. When the trees were in full bloom the
fragrance so filled the atmosphere as to attract the
notice of passers on the sea. The town appeared like a
rustic village with its white houses peeping from amid
the boughs laden with yellow fruit. In the picking
season the harbor was enlivened with a fleet of vessels,
buyers from which thronged the streets bargaining for
the oranges and arranging to send cargoes of them to
the Northern cities. But on a night in February the
mercury fell to seven degrees, a point which has never
been touched since. The cold destroyed all the orange
trees, some of which rivalled in stature the sturdy forest
oaks. At one stroke was wiped out the labor of years,
and for many families this meant the loss of their entire
resources of income. They descended from affluence to
poverty and distress.

The “‘Big Freeze” of 1888 wreaked havoc again, and
there have been other destructive frosts since. But

\
208 Highways and Byways of Florida

after each the tropical trees have been brought into
bearing agin, and latterly great quantities of the sum-
mer fruits of the temperate zone are being raised so
that it is possible to obtain native fruits continuously
from one year’s end to the other. 7

A cold spell in Florida is very irritating to the tour-
ists, and a frost, even though the mercury is barely
down to the freezing point, is outrageous. “If this is
your Florida winter, deliver me!” they exclaim. At that
very time, if they choose, they can walk out into the
woods and gather quite a nosegay of flowers, and they
can eat radishes, lettuce, and peas grown in the open
air. However, it must be granted that the term “Sunny
South” does not fit very literally in January. Visitors
are apt to arrive with their heads full of romantic no-
tions of what they will find. They expect the banks of
the streams to be covered with orange groves which
blossom all through the year and are continuously
loaded with golden fruit; and they expect pineapples
and bananas to grow wild, and the flowers to every-
where brighten the ground and hang in festoons from
tree to tree. What the casual observer actually does
find, instead of the tropical exuberance at which he
thought he would be staring, is a monotonous sandy
level with patches of rough coarse grass, and tall scat-
tered pine trees, whose tops are so far in the air that
they seem to cast no shade, and a little scrubby under-
brush; or, if there are deciduous trees in the woodland,
their leafage continues to hang on the twigs in ragged
Dpls4opy Us4ayInos Ul J4DI-XO Up

 
 

A St. Petersburg roadway
Some Characteristics 209

patches until pushed off by the swelling buds of spring,
and imparts a peculiar desolate untidness to the wood-
land. One undoubted drawback is the difficulty of in-
ducing the sandy soil to nourish grass. The ground has
a persistent tendency to present the appearance of a
place where hens have been scratching. The coarse
native grasses that are able to withstand the summer
heat do not make a satisfactory turf, and to have a nice
lawn is a great undertaking.

The tourists are likely to think that Florida does
not fairly merit being called a land of flowers, but
they should explore the boggy glades of the woods,
which is where the flowers grow. Even in midwinter
the woods are a sort of treasure trove. There are
palmetto leaves that can be pressed and dried and
made into fans, there is the long wire grass which can
be fashioned into mats, baskets, and various little
fancy articles, and there are the flowers of which a
reasonable nosegay can be secured on any day the
winter through, and usually there is an abundance of
bright delicate ferns untouched by the frosts. One
woodland flower that is profusely abundant is the
yellow jasmine. It rambles everywhere, full of vigor,
wild grace, and violet-scented fragrance. Sometimes
its yellow bells twinkle from the prickly foliage of the
holly where it has taken full possession, transforming
the solemn evergreen into a blossoming garland. Or
it may establish itself fully fifty feet up in a water
oak where it mingles its long festoons with the swaying
210 Highways and Byways of Florida

streamers of the gray moss. Again you find it creeping
over the ground in a thick mat with its golden buds
and open bells peeping up from the huckleberry bushes
and sedge grass. Sometimes it clambers all over a
fallen tree weaving itself about the gaunt upreaching
branches and throwing off long sprays and streamers
that flutter out charmingly against the blue of the sky.

The sparkleberry, a tall shrub with vivid green foli-
age that hangs full of clusters of small white blossoms,
comes into its glory as that of the jasmine is passing
away. Prickly pear grows in great clumps adorned
with bright yellow blossoms. Here and there in the
wire grass are patches of blue and white violets. The
former are large and long stemmed. The latter are
very fragrant, and they whiten the ground in some
places. Along the watersides may be found clumps
of pale pink azalias that fill the air with their honeyed
sweetness. Here too grow the blue iris and the white
lilies, and you may find a pool yellow with bladderwort.
Often the dells are lighted up by the white showy
blossoms of the dogwood, or are brightened by a red-
bud which is like a bush of pink flame. As the season
advances, blue wistaria climbs from branch to branch,
and there are the coral-honeysuckle, the trumpet-
creeper, and a multitude of other flowers.

The winter aspect of the wild lands may be some-
what somber, but spring is as much a pomp and glory
here as in the North. Nothing could exceed the out-
burst of vividness and vigor when the sun returns to
Some Characteristics 211

make its power felt. In the North and West blizzards
may rage and railroads be blocked by snowdrifts,
while throughout Florida the coming of summer is
heralded by the singing of birds, the maturing of
fruits and vegetables, and the air is sweet with the
odor of orange blossoms.
XIII

PINES, PALMETTOS, AND OTHER TREES

of long-leaved pine forests. The rough-barked
tapering trunks rise straight as arrows, and
lift their plumed tops sixty to a hundred feet in the
air. Rarely is there a limb in the first two thirds
of the height. The needles are from twelve to eight-
een inches long, and when the wind blows through
the foliage it makes music worth listening to. ‘The
carpet of fallen needles underfoot is appropriately
called pine straw. “The woodland is characterized by
a singular silence and a bewildering sameness. So
scattering do the trees stand that you can look between
their straight trunks for seemingly endless miles before
they draw together in the gray distance and shut off the
view. They cast little shade, and down below is calm
sunshine which is very grateful in winter. Even when
there is a brisk wind, the depth of the pine woods is
serene and still.
One of these woods’ peculiarities is the apparent
difficulty of getting into them. As you advance they
recede. You seem always to be at the beginning of a

wood. The near trees are far apart, and though those
212

; N many parts of Florida are interminable stretches
ysasof aurd foat-3uo] v ut Surmpsp-d0T

 
 

Cutting a gutter for turpentine
Pines, Palmettos, and Other Trees 213

at a distance seem to stand thicker, you find them
scattered just the same, as you go on. Such woods do
not afford much stimulus to the imagination. Beyond
and behind and on either side they present no variation.
Yet after all they have a certain open sunny park-like
charm. One writer in recording his impressions has
sighed for a hill, and adds, “‘An impossible country to
live in, but most pleasant for a half-day winter stroll.”

The monotony of the “flat woods,” as those low-lying
dry level pine lands are called, and the utter absence
of landmarks make it unsafe for the stranger to wander
from the beaten track. You easily get lost, and then
it is hard to find yourself and to avoid spending your
days in endless circuit. A compass is almost indis-
pensible if you have a fancy for rambling in the “piney”
woods, for when the weather is cloudy there is nothing
to steer by, and the watercourses with their tortuous
windings are very confusing. It is amazing what
dreary miles there are of these pine barrens—arid
level wastes with an undergrowth of palmetto scrub,
and here and there patches of coarse grass or sedge,
and stretches of shallow bog pools.

The roads are often under water in places, and are
deep sand most of the rest of the way. Loads of wood
drawn over them to the towns are ridiculously small
—more like wheelbarrow loads than wagon loads; and
yet the driver will claim his load is pretty heavy to drag
seven or eight miles in such going. It probably does
not sell for over a dollar.
214 Highways and Byways of Florida

The longleaf pine makes the finest timber of any of
the Southern pines, and grows to a greater height.
It attains a diameter of sixteen inches breast-high,
and a height of one hundred feet in somewhat more
than a century. As a structural timber in the erection
of bridges and factories it is unsurpassed, and it is
excellent for spars and masts. Its hardness and wearing
qualities cause it to be employed to a large extent for
flooring. °

The turpentine men are buying or leasing all the
pines possible, and Florida is now the center of tur-
pentine production in the United States. The old
crude method was to “box” the tree near the ground.
A deep downward-slanting cavity was chopped in the
trunk, and in this the sap collected. Above this
cavity was cut a wide scarf that went just beneath the
bark into the sapwood, and the gash was so shaped
that it conducted the sap to the box. The pitch
sweats from the wood in curdy white cream that flows
imperceptibly downward. Heat and cold affect the flow
of the pine sap to a marked degree. Very little pitch
is collected in winter, and the flow is most copious in late
spring and early summer. Stalwart negroes go about
dipping the accumulated pitch into buckets and filling
casks on a creaking wagon that is drawn by mules.
Often you hear them in the distance singing some old
racial folk-song that has neither beginning nor end,
but which, in its strange cadences, chimes in with the
music of the wind in the tree-tops.
Pines, Palmettos, and Other Trees 215

Boxing the trees for turpentine is rapidly being
abandoned. Instead of the big cavity cut for the sap
to dribble into, flowerpot-like receptacles are hung
on the trunks. This results in a cleaner product and
longer-lived trees; and when fire sweeps through the
barrens the blaze is far less apt to get at the heart of
the trees and destroy them.

The mule teams convey the casks of pitch to the
still, Scores of barrels of pitch from thousands of
trees are required for one run. When boxed trees were
the rule the turpentine was a dark, viscid fluid which
soon hardened in cooling into a brittle mass known as
rosin. But by. modern methods the fluid is pellucid
and amber colored and hardens into the “water white”
rosin of the trade. Twelve grades are commonly listed,
ending with the old-fashioned opaque dark red rosin.
More than three-fourths of a million casks of turpen-
tine have been shipped from Southern ports to the
markets of the world in a single year.

The time seems not far distant when the Florida
turpentine camps will be things of the past, and the
smoke of the last still will have vanished. But there
are persons who declare that the end of this industry
is like the end of the world, the date for which has been
so often set. At any rate you can find within a few
miles of some of the state’s important population
centers turpentining carried on with as much energy as
ever. Young trees grow where old ones have been
exhausted of their amber resin tears and dragged
216 Highways and Byways of Florida

away to the sawmill, and in many a former plowed
field there stands today a grove of pines that will soon
be big enough to yield turpentine. When conditions
are favorable, fifteen years suffice for a tree to attain
a size that makes it profitable for such use. Only the
mature trees used to be tapped, but now those no
more than four or five inches through are subjected to
the process.

By making fresh wounds higher and higher up,
the sap is induced to keep on flowing. Eventually
the bark will be cut off up to a height of five or six feet
in a space from eight to twelve inches wide, if the size
of the trunk permits. The same may be done on two
or three sides of a large tree. A half or more of the
base is sometimes cut away, and the tree becomes so
weakened that it is likely to blow down in a gale.
After a tree has been bled for several years it is aban-
doned. If left undisturbed, the sun sears the scars
with hardened pitch, and the tree regains to some
degree its natural vigor. Then new wounds may be
made through the yet untouched bark and more
turpentine gathered.

Usually, as soon as a grove has ceased to yield tur-
pentine, the woodsmen cut the trees for the second
quality lumber which the bleeding process has left be-
hind. However, the gum comes from the sapwood only,
and the heartwood is as strong as unbled.

Cattle and horses range freely in the woods all the
twelve months of the year. Even in the winter the
Pines, Palmettos, and Other Trees 217

cows can be seen roaming the barrens picking up their
living, and at that time are likely to be wild-eyed and
hungry-looking. The people who own the cattle set
fires every winter to burn the dry grass and weeds and
curb the undergrowth and improve the pasturage. The
long low lines of flame sweep through the forests, and
the air is full of soft blue haze that makes delicate every
landscape and gives the distance a touch of romance
and mystery. By day pitchy smoke drifting heaven-
ward shows where the fire has got into thick young
growths of pines. By night the woodland is weird
with flickering light. It is necessary to plow fire lines
eight or ten feet wide around homesteads and orchards
in order to keep out the flames. Occasionally a tree
that has a weak spot catches the fire and becomes a
blazing column that presently crashes to the ground.
Millions of young pines that are just starting are de-
stroyed, and, worse still, all the accumulation of vegeta-
tion which should be preserved to add humus to the
soil is consumed. After the moving lines of fire have
passed, the flames linger for days in pine stumps, eating
away at the resinous wood. Some of the stumps stand
fifty feet high, and are a foot or two in diameter. The
bark has fallen, and the sapwood soon begins to decay,
but the heart remains firm year after year. Farmers
use this heartwood for fence posts, and it is fabled to
last in the ground for a century.

Large areas in Florida are covered with dense growths
of the saw-palmetto, so named because of its spiny-
218 Highways and Byways of Florida

toothed leafstalks. This palmetto scrub, as it is com-
monly called, creeps over the surface like huge cater-
pillars. Each caterpillar bears a bunch of fan-like
leaves, and in moist rich land it rears a high head and
looks as if it were trying to become a tree, but it never
does. The lustrous green leaves catch the sun-gleams,
and their bristling clusters make a curious and tropical
scenery. The stems and the leaves are both very stiff,
and one’s progress through the scrub is accompanied by
the noisy wooden clatter of the resisting foliage. If
the growth is thick and rank you will prefer not to
force a passage, for the spinelets of the leafstems scratch
viciously. If the land is to be cultivated, the scrub has
to be laboriously rooted out.

A Northern man with an ambition to be a Florida
farmer says of the process of clearing a patch of land
on his place: “We contracted with certain of our
neighbors—locally called Crackers—to grub away the
saw-palmettos. This was a taxing work for the back
and the patience, and the Crackers were of a convivial
turn and averse to monotonous exertion. They en-
camped at hand in a picturesque and roystering style,
played cards, discharged revolvers, came and went,
and tippled about a flaring night-fire. Sometimes they
disappeared for days, and we heard of them vaguely
as recuperating from their labors. Now and then they
did a little grubbing.

“When this occurred I made a point of going out to
encourage them with tales of Northern snow and frozen ,
Pines, Palmettos, and Other Trees 219

streams, of great towns in which were buildings taller
than the tallest Florida pines, interspersing my remarks
with reflections on Northern persistence. I cannot say
that this forwarded the grubbing, but it seemed to give
the Crackers a great conceit of my inventive powers.
There sprang up between us a very genial relation.
The Crackers called me by my first name with a pleas-
ant scriptural simplicity; they leaned on their grubbing-
hoes and gathered matter for camp fables; and when
they had listened for a while they perceived themselves
to be exhausted with toil, and retired to mind the fire for
dinner. After several weeks of campaigning in this
manner they confessed themselves worsted, and the
encampment broke up.

“Then I employed a vagrant Irishman to finish the
job. He professed a fine Hibernian ‘contimpt’ for the
Cracker, assuming himself and me to be apart in a
common superiority. He had a thick hairy forearm
and a muscular back. He spat on his palms and plied
the grub-hoe manfully and steadily till the ground was
cleared.”

The scrub palmetto sprawls about on the ground and
rears up only its head, but the cabbage palmetto is a
beautiful tree with a columnar trunk. The tree at first
looks like a fountain of great green leaves bursting from
the earth. This sphere of foliage is ten or twelve feet in
diameter. New leaves develop with wonderful rapidity.
They stand erect at first, but gradually arch outward
as they expand their blades and lengthen their stems.
220 Highways and Byways of Florida

A full-grown leaf is often four or five feet across and is
curiously plaited and folded. The outside lower leaves
gradually become yellow, wither, and break off a few in-
ches from where the stem joins the trunk. This trunk
is as large when the tree begins to rise from the ground
as it ever will be. As the tree grows taller the trunk
changes little except that the rough dry leafstems fall
off after clasping it for a number of years. They leave
a clean barkless trunk from six to twelve inches in
diameter of equal thickness from top to bottom. The
trunks of the younger trees, which seem to present a
regular criss-cross of basket-work formed by the scales
whence the old leaves have decayed and dropped away,
are frequently adorned with clinging ferns, wild flowers,
and vines that hang in fantastic draperies down their
sides making leafy blossom-decorated pillars. When
mature, the tree raises its fan crown fifty or sixty feet
in the air. The trunk is gradually worn away by wind
and weather till at last it gets too frail to support the
heavy tuft of leafage. After the wind has felled it, de-
cay begins at the heart, and many seasons pass betare
the tough outer part softens. These hollow palmettos
make ideal resorts for the wild creatures.

The palmettos are not accounted of much value.
However, the leaves are useful for thatching roofs and
for making hats, mats, fans, baskets, and other articles;
and the trunks are occasionally cut into lengths for fence
posts, or are set up for telegraph poles; and they make
specially good wharf piles, as the borers do not attack
 

A turpentine orchard
 

In the national forest—a fine lookout
Pines, Palmettos, and Other Trees 221

them as they do most woods. The soft enfolding leaves
that surround the central bud somewhat resemble a
cabbage in quality, whence comes the tree’s name.

Palmettos will bear more cold than any other member
of the palm family, as they are found as far north as
Cape Hatteras. But you do not see them at their best till
you get down to Palatka. There the swamps have a real
tropical picturesqueness, and the jungle has a touch of
stateliness, due chiefly to the presence of the palmettos.
They lean together in groups and lend grace to every
landscape. Along the banks of streams their plumed
heads reach far out over the water and make the mud-
diest creek a place of enchantment. No other Southern
tree has so striking a personality.

In the regions where sand prevails, the finest trees
and shrubbery grow on the banks of the “branches,”
as brooks are called in the South. You can look through
the lofty open pillars of the pines and trace the course
of a branch half a mile away by the vigorous vegetation
that borders it. There you are likely to find magnolias,
big and stately, with large leaves of a glossy varnished
green that remain on the trees the year round. In
May they are covered with great white blossoms some-
thing like pond lilies, and with much the same odor.
The size of the trees, their splendid foliage, and wealth
of bloom make them seem worthy to be trees of heaven.

Oak trees are common, especially the live oak, water
oak, and blackjack. Prickly ash with its queerly
knobbed and pointed branches and its graceful feathery
222 Highways and Byways of Florida

leaves is often a feature of the scene. The live oaks are
evergreens that drop their leaves grudgingly and put on
new ones in the same way. The leaf is oval, about two
inches long and three-fourths of an inch wide, glossy
and dark green above, and pale beneath. The trunk
of the tree is usually much divided. Often the upper
side of the main spreading branches is thickly planted
with ferns, grasses, and small saw palmettos; and the
Spanish moss grows luxuriantly on the trees whether
they are living or dead. To most people the moss
draperies have a mysterious beauty that is fascinating,
but one woman tourist from New England has pro-
tested: “I don’t like that ragged moss over every-
thing. It reminds me of untidy housekeeping.”

One singular and beautiful feature of the woods is
the cypress. It attains a great age and immense size.
In form the cypress is straight stemmed, with a base
that is often big and high and remarkably buttressed
or ridged. Its shaft is topped by a wide-spreading
head of giant limbs with very numerous branchlets.
The prevailing size of mature trees above the basal
swell is three to five feet, but some grow much larger.
About twelve feet is the maximum. A height of one
hundred and fifty feet is sometimes reached, though
always the culmination in height comes long before
the greatest diameter is attained. Few cypress trees
are large enough for lumber at an age of less than two
centuries, and those that are twice or thrice that age
are very common. Old trees die backward or down-
Pines, Palmettos, and Other Trees 233

ward during a period of one to four centuries. The
heart decays, and the last stage is usually a hollow
cylinder. These hollow veterans are probably from
one thousand to two thousand years in age. In a
Mexico churchyard is a cypress that is declared on the
authority of scientists to be over five thousand years
old. It is a punishable offense to touch a knife to its
bark or pick a leaf.

The trunk and branches of an old cypress are smooth
and white, while its feathery foliage is a dazzling
golden-green. When it rises, as it often does, amid
clumps of dark evergreens, such as bay, magnolia, and
myrtle, the effect is very striking. It is one of the few
conifers which successfully sprouts from the stump
as well as propagates itself by seeds. It grows naturally
only in deep rich swamp lands. In locations where
water covers the surface for long periods the cypress
develops peculiar knees or upright conic portions of
the root system, which seem to serve the double pur-
pose of organs for breathing and anchorage. Occasion-
ally these knees reach heights of from eight to ten
feet above low-water mark. ‘The wood in them is
light in weight, but peculiarly gnarled and twisted
in structure. Except in their early stages the knees
are apt to be hollow, and they were formerly much
valued by the negroes for beehives.

Although cypress grows chiefly on very unstable
and treacherous soils, it is one of the most windfirm
of trees. Rarely, if ever, is a living cypress overthrown
224. Highways and Byways of Florida

by the wind. When a severe tropical hurricane swept
along the Savannah River in 1892, not a single cypress
was seen to have yielded to the fury of the storm,
whereas the pines were mowed down like grain before
the reaper, and the sturdy live oaks were uprooted.

Cypress is found in commercial quantities in all
the Southern states that border on the coast or the
Mississippi River. The variety that grows in this
region is known among botanists as “bald” cypress
because it sheds its leaves annually. Louisiana has
about forty per cent of all the standing cypress, and
Florida comes next with one-quarter.

For many years only the timber accessible to streams
subject to flooding was taken. The soft nature of the
soil and the great weight of the logs made impossible
moving the timber with oxen or mules. So cypress
swamps, on account of their apparent inaccessibility,
were regarded by the settler as of little value. Large
tracts of overflow lands in Louisiana and Florida that
were acquired by speculators for from twenty-five
cents to one dollar an acre are now worth over one
hundred dollars an acre for the standing cypress alone.

Until after 1880 the wealth of cypress remained
practically untouched. The logging is attended by
difficulties of a kind unknown in handling any other
commercial timber. The bulk of the cypress is now
logged by massive steam machinery moved from place
to place on railroads built into the deepest part of the
swamps. The butt cuts of large cypress trees will not
Pines, Palmettos, and Other Trees 225

float when green, and to overcome this difficulty it is
the general practice to girdle the trees six months to a
year in advance of logging. This results in the sap’s
drying out of the wood so that about ninety-five per
cent of the logs float instead of twenty per cent. Many
lumbermen leave stumps from five to nine feet high,
but the most efficient companies cut the trees at a
height of two or three feet. Logs are rafted to the
mills through lakes, bayous, and sometimes canals
for distances from fifty to one hundred and twenty-five
miles.

The wood is used in a multitude of ways, and is
especially valuable for liquid containers and for pur-
poses where the resistance of decay by exposure to
the weather or contact with the earth is important.
Cypress shingles were regarded as so much superior
to any others that they were used at a very early
period. An instance is cited of a roof of such shingles
serving well two hundred and fifty years after it was
laid. New Orleans cypress water-mains remained
sound nearly a century, and a cypress headboard
marking a grave in South Carolina was so well pre-
served after one hundred and forty years that the
letters on it were easily read. Marble and sandstone
gravestones often decay and crumble in less time.
Cypress coffins have been found in fair condition after
an interment of two centuries. The best canoe
wood in early times in the far South was cypress.
Dugouts were almost the only kind of canoe made
226 Highways and Byways of Florida

in the region. An observer writing in 1714 says that
the cypress dugouts on the Carolina rivers had a
capacity of thirty barrels and were freighted with
flour, lumber, and other commodities. These canoes
even ventured on the open sea. Truly cypress is “the
wood eternal.”
XIV

BIRDS AND BEASTS

MONG the Florida birds whose songs have a

A striking individuality are the mocking birds,

mourning doves, Bob Whites, and cardinal
birds. Robins are numerous in the early winter, but
begin to migrate north by the end of February. They
go in flocks of thousands—sometimes so many as to
darken the sky.

At dusk the whip-poor-will begins to sing. As
compared with the whip-poor-will of the North its
voice is less of a plaint and more of a chuckle. Some
people affirm that it says, “Dick fell out of the white
oak.” Others tell you that its words are, “Dick
married the widow.” ‘The song ceases when the dark-
ness becomes dense, but is resumed for a time with the
first faint signs of dawn in the eastern sky.

If you ramble in the swamps you may chance to
see the footprints of a wild turkey, or, less likely, may
hear a bird gobbling, or even see him. At night the
wild turkeys perch in the trees. They feed mainly
early in the forenoon and late in the afternoon, and
spend the hot midday on high ground lurking among
the bushes. In the spring the gobblers fight fierce

battles for the possession of hens.
227
228 Highways and Byways of Florida

Florida is the home of many long-legged wading
birds. One of these is the great blue heron, familiarly
known as “the major.” He is a frequent sight in all
parts of the state, and often several are in view at the
same time—not together, but here and there—one on
a sandbar, another in some shallow bay, and another
on the submerged edge of an oyster-flat. The bird
rarely seems to be doing anything except standing.
There are rustic natives who declare that he is very
good eating if killed in the full of the moon; for, as he
feeds chiefly at night, he fares best with the moon to
help him secure his food. It is a queer life that the
creature leads—fat and lean by turn twelve times a
year!

Caution is one of his most striking characteristics.
If he is patrolling a shallow on one side of an oyster
bar and takes it into his head to try the water on the
other side, he stretches up his neck to look in all direc-
tions. How could he know but that some enemy was
lying in wait? When he is satisfied that he can make
the change with safety he spreads his wings and flies
over. After alighting he looks once more all about
him. He means to run no risks. If nothing meets
his vision to cause him apprehension, he draws in
his neck till his head is on a level with his shoulders,
and resumes his labors.

You will probably see a number of the great blue
heron’s relatives in this country of abounding waters,
where the heron family is so much at home. For
Birds and Beasts 229

instance, there are the green heron, the little blue,
and that dainty creature which is called “The Lady
of the Waters.”

Another interesting frequenter of the waters is the
pelican, a bird which flies with vigorous grace in spite
of its huge pouched bill. In the autumn of each year
the pelicans of the east coast begin their mating, and
flock to the single rookery which is their nesting-place.
This rookery is a low sandy island with an area of
about three acres, situated in a sheltered bay of the
Indian River, a little south of the town of Malabar.
Here they have all bred ever since man has had any
knowledge of the vicinity. The young birds cannot
bear much heat or cold, and the island is very well
chosen for getting a moderate temperature. When the
breeding impulse comes to the pelicans in October they
collect in flocks of hundreds up and down the coast,
and at length, in a single night, all arrive at the island
and take possession.

This island is a government bird sanctuary, and a
warden is there to protect the pelicans during the nest-
ing season from the depredations of mankind. Some
fifteen hundred nests are built on the tract, and then
begins a carnival of pelican-growing which lasts for
months. Formerly the island was covered with man-
grove trees, but apparently the weight of nests and
roosting birds was too much for them, and only one
lone tree has survived. So close together are the brood-
ing birds that the island as seen from a distance seems
230 Highways and Byways of Florida

covered with driftwood. On the higher parts one great
grass nest almost touches the next, and there is hardly
room for neighboring birds to take flight at the same
time without flapping each other with their seven-foot
spread of wings.

The pelican mother lays three pure white eggs which
hatch in about four weeks. Ten weeks later the young
have acquired full flight plumage. But during that
ten weeks the parents have a busy time feeding their
voracious young. The male and female alternate in
seeking food and sitting on the nest, and seem to share
equally in all the care of their fledgelings. Not until
the chicks have grown the white down which precedes
the real feathers are they left alone by the parents, for
they quickly die of exposure if the weather is cool, and
the hot sunshine is no less fatal. The old birds have to
make several trips to the fishing grounds daily. They
swallow the fish, and after arriving at the nest disgorge
them into the baggy pouch beneath the bill. From this
pouch the little pelicans help themselves. ;

Except for a croak of recognition with which a sitting
bird greets its relieving mate the adult pelican is silent.
Not so with the young. Pelican Island in the breeding
season is vocal with the croaks, cries, and squawks of the
young birds. The larger the youthful bird is, the shriller
and louder its voice. In March most of the pelicans
desert the island, and it is practically uninhabited for
the next seven months. During that period the keeper
has his vacation.
Birds and Beasts 231

One of the most singular of the Florida birds is that
personification of ugliness, the water turkey. Why it
has that name is not very apparent, for the only thing
about it that bears any resemblance to the Thanks-
giving fowl is its tail. It is also called a “darter” from
a habit it has of suddenly thrusting forward its bill to
seize its prey. A third name for it is the “snakebird,”
which some say is derived from its fondness for a snake
diet, and others from its snaky neck. The neck is too
long for the rest of it, and its legs are too short. It has
a small head and a sharp slender bill. The bird is a
haunter of the inland streams, lakes, and swamps, and
is a very expert swimmer and diver.

A naturalist visitor has said that a water turkey
reminds him of a crow that has had its neck pulled.
It lives on fish, though how it gets them down its pre-
posterously thin neck isa mystery. The bird is nervous
in its manner, and when approached has an odd way
of poking its long pointed bill this way and that as if
trying to make holes in the atmosphere through which
to escape. Then, with a tremendous burst of energy,
it whirs away on its short wings. If it is surprised on
a limb that hangs low over the water it will dive, and
when it comes to the surface afterward it thrusts up
its head and neck and looks around while keeping its
body submerged.

The tourist does well to remember that Florida is the
haunt of many stinging and biting insects. ‘I’m tellin’
yo’ the truth,” an east coast negro said to a questioner
232 Highways and Byways of Florida

from the North, “the muskeeters and sandflies is awful
hyar in summer.” These or other pests are found in
certain parts of the state at all seasons. The microscopic
redbug has colonized every bunch of grass and moss
and dry seaweed on the peninsula, as well as every log
and bit of dead wood. A pedestrian is sure to become
acquainted with it sooner or later. In size it is almost
invisible, but it is gigantic in its power of annoyance.
The creatures promptly transfer themselves to the loi-
tering sightseer, and give him cause to think he is on fire.
However, they can be effectively combated by rubbing
the affected spots with a mixture of grease and salt.
Leather or canvas leggings are a desirable protection
both against the redbugs and wood-ticks that frequent
the undergrowth, and against the spiny and thorny
harshness of the vegetation.

You need not be alarmed if you run afoul of a scor-
pion, for it is no more to be dreaded than a spider. But
if a centipede crawls over your bare skin it will leave a
painfully inflamed trail. When bathing in salt water,
should you come in contact with the long streaming
tentacles of a Portuguese man-of-war, you will fancy
it to be a particularly vicious bunch of stinging nettles,
or if you encounter a whipray you will probably receive
a wound that will be acutely painful and slow to heal.
“But what’s the use of namin’ all our bitin’ and stingin’
critters?”’ an elderly native has said. “I’ve lived hyar
all my life an’ hain’t run up agin nary one of ’em, ’cep-
tin’, of cose, redbugs an’ muskeeters an’ scorponiums
Sapops1aagy ay) Ur sursviof

Sluqjorg UMorg Aq oOYg

 
 

Cocoanut palms on Key Biscayne
Birds and Beasts 233

an’ sich trash that don’t count, only to make a feller
scratch an’ cuss.”

Some Florida visitors declare that you hear there
more night voices gasping, gurgling, screeching, and
choking than anywhere else in the world. One peculiar
night voice is that of the Southern bullfrog. He ought
to be called a pigfrog, for his love call is a mere grunt.
He sits with his nose just out of the water grunting
exactly like a contented young pig.

Many persons can recall the abounding wild life of
the Florida west coast, when alligators slept on the
banks of every river, wading birds stalked across every
flat, solid acres of waterfowl were to be seen on the bays
and streams, and overhead flew great flocks of birds,
some pure white, and others gorgeously colored. An
Indian hunter leaves enough of the old birds to feed
the young of a rookery, but the white man kills the last
plume bird he can find and leaves the young ones to
die in their nests.

Men tourists are very apt to bring with them auto-
matic shotguns and repeating rifles with which they
bang at everything that flies or crawls. They have
well-nigh exterminated certain kinds of game. Perhaps
the deer of the southern wilderness withstands them
better than any of the other creatures, for the labor
of following it over boggy meadows and through
mangrove thickets is too strenuous for the average

hunter.
Tourists rarely see a snake, but they hear of them.
234 Highways and Byways of Florida

The Florida man who cannot tell at least one snake
story may be set down as having land to sell.

Turtles are among the most numerous and interesting
of edible Florida animals. In the egg-laying season
the female turtle feels the impulse to seek the shore
mostly on fine calm moonlight nights. When within
thirty or forty yards of the beach she raises her head
above the water and attentively examines the objects
on the land. If she observes nothing likely to disturb
-her intended operations, she emits a loud hissing sound
which serves to frighten such of her many enemies as
are unaccustomed to it, and they are apt to go to an-
other place. Should she hear any noise, or perceive
indications of danger, she instantly sinks and goes off
to a considerable distance, but if everything is quiet
she advances slowly to the beach. When she reaches
it she crawls along with head raised to the full stretch
of her neck till she gets to a place fitting for her purpose.
There she gazes all round, and, if satisfied that no harm
threatens, she proceeds to dig a hole in the sand with
her hind flippers. The sand is alternately raised with
each flipper until it has accumulated behind her, when
she supports herself with her head and fore part on the
ground, and with a spring of the flippers sends the heap
of sand scattering to a distance of several feet. In this
manner the hole is deepened to about eighteen inches,
or even to as much as twenty-four inches sometimes,
and the labor may not occupy over nine minutes. The
eggs are then dropped one by one, and disposed in reg-
Birds and Beasts 235

ular layers to the number of one hundred and fifty or
possibly nearly two hundred. The whole time spent in
this operation is about twenty minutes. That done,
she scrapes the loose sand back over the eggs, and so
levels and smooths the surface that few persons on see-
ing the spot could imagine anything had been done to
it. Now she retreats to the water with all possible
dispatch, leaving the hatching of the eggs to the heat
of the sand. When a turtle is in the act of dropping
her eggs, she will not move, even if a man were to seat
himself on her back, for it seems that she is unable to
intermit her labor.

Those who catch turtles resort to the beach in the
egg-laying season and walk along it at night where the
turtles come up out of the water to deposit their eggs.
When a man sees one he goes to it and turns it over.
Then he walks on to seek others, and serves each in
the same manner till he is tired. To upset one of the
bigger turtles the catcher is obliged to get down on his
knees, place his shoulder behind her fore-arm, gradually
raise her by pushing vigorously, and then with a jerk
throw her over. Sometimes it requires the united
strength of several men to accomplish this. Few turtles,
when once turned over, can regain their natural posi-
tion without assistance.

The morning after the catcher has been at his task
he returns to get the turtles that he left on their backs.
There they are wriggling in flabby helplessness wholly
236 Highways and Byways of Florida

visitor to the Florida region in 1682 says, in telling how
the turtles were secured, ‘‘They are laid on their backs,
where, hopeless of relief, as if sensible of their future
condition, they mourn out their funerals, the tears
flowing plentifully from their eyes accompanied with
passionate sobs and sighs.”

Some turtlers set great nets across the entrance to
streams. These nets have very large meshes into which
the turtles partially enter, when, the more they attempt
to extricate themselves, the more they get entangled.
Harpoons are used also in securing the creatures.

Each turtler has his “crawl,” which is a square
wooden building or pen formed of logs, the logs being set
upright in the mud sufficiently far apart to allow the
tide to pass freely through. In this inclosure the turtles
are placed and fed until they are sold. The turtle-crawl
has much the same relation to the household of the
Gulf Coast dweller that the chicken-coop has to inland
homes.

The food of the green turtle consists chiefly of marine
plants, which they cut near the roots to procure the
most tender and succulent parts. Their feeding-grounds
are easily discovered because masses of these plants are
set afloat and drift to the neighboring shores.

Persons who search for turtles’ eggs are provided with
a light stiff cane or gun-rod, with which they go along
the beaches probing the sand near the tracks of the an-
imals. On certain shores hundreds of turtles deposit
their eggs within the space of a mile. The young, soon
Birds and Beasts 237

after being hatched, and when scarcely larger than a
silver dollar, scratch their way through their sandy
covering and immediately betake themselves to the
water. All the turtle tribe can swim with surprising
speed.

Probably the alligator is the most picturesque and
popular feature of the Florida peninsula. He enlivens
its waters and makes his bed on the banks of the streams,
and he has served as a target for nearly every rifle
that has been brought into the state. The alligators’
nests are big heaps of reeds, dried leaves, and rubbish.
Their eggs are about the size of hens’ eggs, and are white
with a tough leathery skin. Midsummer is the laying
time, and the heat in the sub-tropical swamp does the
hatching. The mother, however, lingers not far away,
and if you wish to see her you need only catch one of the
little wriggly youngsters and pinch its tail. The squeal
of pain can usually be depended on to bring the mother
with a rush, though the sight of a man will send her
back in a panic. The little ones are born on the banks
of the pool in which the mother dwells, and this abounds
with fish so that they have plenty toeat. Sometimes an
alligator will get a duck or a heron by coming up from
beneath and snapping the bird before it has time to
rise from the water.

Until about 1890 the alligators had not been much
disturbed in most of their wilderness haunts. Fifteen-
footers wore broad paths promenading from one deep
hole to another, but they rarely make such trips now,
238 Highways and Byways of Florida

and you need to be stealthy of foot and quick of eye
to see one. They stick closely to their holes, and when
the saurian takes alarm while up sunning himself, he
has only to make a quick plunge and he is far down
in the mud out of sight. He is ordinarily harmless,
and only when wounded or surprised in his lair will he
show fight. Then he may bite you with those jagged
rows of teeth in his big mouth, or strike you with his
muscular tail, but this will simply be to get an opportu-
nity to escape. He makes the water fairly boil in his
frantic efforts. You can swim in his private pool, if
you choose, and instead of molesting you he will crowd
farther down into the depths of his mudhole.

One of his habits is to lie almost submerged with
only his protruding nostrils and eyes above the surface.
If you are not familiar with alligators you would think
these were bits of floating rubbish. His deadliest foe
is the bulls-eye lantern. Its glare hypnotizes and holds
him helpless. This fire-hunting for alligators is butch-
ery. The bulls-eye is bound to the hunter’s forehead,
he crouches with his rifle in the front of a skiff which
a companion sculls at the stern. The ray of light from
the lantern strays over the surface of the water, and
plays among the leafage along the shore. When it re-
veals an alligator he is so spellbound that he lies on the
surface motionless with his eyes shining in the glare.
The hunter need not fire his gun until the boat is so
close that the powder burns the creature as the gun
is discharged and the bullet crashes into his brain.
Birds and Beasts 239

Until almost the end of the last century the water
in the Big Cypress country was filled with alligators,
and fire-hunters often took a thousand of the reptiles
from a single small lake. Less than a score of years
ago the principal dealer on the west coast bought three
or four hundred hides daily from about fifty hunters,
and kept a schooner running to Key West with hides
and returning with cargoes of salt, ammunition, and
grub. The price paid for the hides varied from one dol-
lar for those measuring seven feet or over, down to ten
cents for such as measured less than four feet in length.

The fire-hunter has so nearly wiped out the alligator
inhabitants of the lakes and streams in southern Florida
that their pursuit no longer affords him a living. The
surviving remnant of the reptiles leads a precarious ex-
istence in the Big Cypress and the Everglades. During
the dry season the water of the swamps and prairies,
recedes, leaving shallow ponds and water-holes dug by
the alligators. An occasional hunter seeks the creatures
in these depressions. He carries a long iron rod with
which he jabs and prods till the alligator comes to the
surface to be knocked on the head or captured. Some-
times the rod has a hook on the end that is used to haul
out a reluctant victim. Now and then a hunter lures
forth a mother alligator by imitating from deep within
himself the call of her young.

The resorts of the alligator abound in poisonous
snakes, and sometimes thirty or forty of them can be
seen around a single alligator hole. If the hunter
240 Highways and Byways of Florida

wears boots he kicks the moccasin snakes out of the
way with the contempt which familiarity breeds, but
if he hears the vibrant alarm of the rattlesnake he
moves only with the greatest caution until he has
located that king of serpents.

There are Florida boys who will go to the haunts of
the alligators and follow a trail to a marshy pond and
coax a ’gator to the surface by grunting in his own
language. If the reptile refuses to respond to this call
the boy may wade deep in the mud and explore with
his toes till he feels the wiggle of the creature. Then he
worries him out of his lair, grabs him by the nose be-
fore he can open his jaws, and drags him to solid ground.

The alligators’ teeth are used more or less to make
into whistles, watch charms, and the like. The process
of securing the teeth is to kill an alligator and leave the
carcass lying for a couple of months, when it can be re-
visited and the loosened teeth drawn from their sockets.
But chiefly alligators are hunted for their hides. The
Seminoles secure a great many of them, and a bare-
legged Indian will pole his heavy dugout loaded with
alligator hides thirty or forty miles to trade them for
grits and bacon.

Florida has its crocodiles as well as its alligators.
The principal difference between them is that the for-
mer has a sharper nose, more formidable teeth, a fiercer
disposition, and jaws that are both hinged, whereas the
alligator has only the lower one hinged. The Florida
crocodile is nearly extinct. The few that are left are
Birds and Beasts 241

probably only to be found along a narrow strip of less
than a dozen miles at the extreme southern end of the
state. They are active in defending themselves when
attacked, and yet specimens nine or ten feet long can
be safely taken into a skiff after their jaws have been
tied, even if the tying is done with nothing more than
a pocket handkerchief. The crocodile becomes as gentle
as a lamb as soon as he loses the use of those formidable
jaws.
XV

TWO CHARMING CITIES

HE cities are not in Florida, but they are so
generally included in any Florida trip that it

seems logical to devote a chapter to them in
this book. I refer to Charleston and Savannah. The
beginnings of the former place date back to 1670 when
an English colony established itself at Albemarle Point
on the banks of the Ashley River, three miles from the
present city. Their settlement was shifted to the site
of Charleston a few years later.

The early history of Charleston is rich in pirate
stories. One of the pirates who preyed on the shipping
of the port, a man named Bonnet, held a resident of
the place on his ship and threatened to send the pris-
oner’s head to the city unless a ransom was forthcoming.
The Charleston authorities presently succeeded in cap-
turing Bonnet and his ship after a savage fight, but the
pirate escaped from the city in woman’s clothing. In
1718 he was retaken, hanged, and buried along with
forty of his band at a spot now covered by Battery
Garden, the favorite promenade of Charlestonians.

The most famous pirate episode of a later time oc-

curred in the spring of 1812, when Theodosia, daughter
242
Two Charming Cities 243

of Aaron Burr and wife of the governor of South Caro-
lina, sailed from Charleston to visit her father in New
York. The schooner on which she was a passenger was
never heard from until, thirty years afterward, an old
sailor dying in a North Carolina coast village confessed
that he had been one of a pirate crew which had cap-
tured the vessel and compelled the passengers to walk
the plank.

Some one writing from Charleston in 1763 says:
“The ladies are genteel and slender. They have fair
complexions, without the help of art, and regular fea-
tures. Their air is easy and natural, their eyes spark-
ling, penetrating, and enchantingly sweet. Many sing
well and play on the harpischord and guitar with great
skill. In summer riding on horseback or in chaises,
which few are without, is much practiced in the evenings
and mornings. In the autumn, winter, and spring there
is plenty of game for the gun or dogs. The gentlemen are
not backward in the chase. During the season there
is once in two weeks a dancing assembly in Charles-
ton, where is always a brilliant appearance of lovely
and well-dressed women. We have likewise a play-
house, where a tolerable set of actors, called the Ameri-
can Company of Comedians, exhibit. Madeira wine
and punch are common drinks of the inhabitants.
The ladies are extremely temperate and generally
drink water. There are about eleven hundred dwellings
in the town.”

Patches of cotton were being grown in South Caro-
244, Highways and Byways of Florida

lina by 1770, and the first cotton shipment from Amer-
ica to Europe consisted of eight bags sent from Charles-
ton to Liverpool in 1784.

At the opening of the Revolution, Charleston was one
of the three leading seaports of the country. In front
of the city on Sullivans Island the Americans erected
a strong breastwork of palmetto logs and sandbags.
The British fleet attacked the rude fort on June 28th,
1776, but the elastic palmetto logs proved an admirable
defense, and a terrific ten-hour bombardment did it
little damage. On the other hand, so effective was the
American fire that every enemy ship except one was
seriously crippled. In the thick of the fight the staff
that held aloft the American flag was broken by a can-
non ball, and the flag fell outside the fort. This flag
was of a design that had been adopted in South Caro-
lina a few months previous. It was blue with a white
crescent in the upper corner next to the staff. Sergeant
William Jasper, an illiterate youth who could not even
read, promptly leaped down the embrasure in the face
of the enemy’s fire, caught up the fallen banner, and
planted it on the sandbags of the bastion, and thus
won for himself a place among the country’s heroes.

The British withdrew. They made another attempt
with no better results in 1779, but the next year a four
months’ siege ended in the surrender of the city.

In 1790 Charleston had fifteen thousand inhabitants,
which was about half as many as there were in New
York. The majority of the Charleston people, however,
 

St. Michael’s Church, Charleston
 

Fort Sumter in Charleston Harbor
Two Charming Cities 245

were negroes, and the majority of the present popu-
lation of sixty-five thousand are also negroes.

The railroad from Charleston to the head of navi-
gation on the Savannah River was, at the time of its
completion, the longest in existence. One of its early
rules was that twenty-five passengers to a car should
be the limit. A train with one passenger car was not
to travel faster than fifteen miles an hour. If it had
two passenger cars the limit was twelve miles, and if
it had three its speed was cut to ten miles.

Osceola, the celebrated Seminole chief, was impris-
oned in Fort Moultrie on Sullivans Island. He was
accompanied by his wife, Morning Dew, and their
child. There he died at the age of thirty-four in Jan-
uary, 1838, of heartbreak, after being in the fort only a
few weeks. He was a sad prisoner who often sighed,
and never was known to laugh during his confinement.
He refused medical attention because he thought it was
the intention to poison him. When he felt the approach
of death he made known that he wished for his war
garments. These were brought, and he rose from the
bed and attired himself in the full insignia of a chief.
He lay down exhausted, and died within a half hour.
He was buried just outside the principal gateway to
the fort and a monument was erected to his memory.

When the Civil War was imminent South Carolina
was the first state to secede. Its legislature passed the
ordinance of secession by unanimous vote in Charleston
on December 20, 1860. All the defenses of the harbor
246 Highways and Byways of Florida

fell into the hands of the state except Fort Sumter,
which was the key to a seaport that was second only
to New Orleans in the South. The government shipped
supplies to the fort early in January, but as the vessel
entered the harbor it was fired on from shore batteries
and compelled to turn back. These were the first shots
of the war.

There was no essential change in the situation after-
ward until April 12, when the Confederates began a
bombardment before daylight. Soon fifty cannon were
pouring their missiles into the fort. As the morning
dawned thousands of the Charleston citizens gathered
along the wharves to witness the spectacle. The fort
returned the fire with vigor at first, but its walls were
presently crumbling and the barracks on fire. Its in-
mates, who numbered one hundred and twenty-eight
men, ‘rolled nearly a hundred barrels of powder into
the sea to prevent explosions. So stifling was the air
with smoke and dust that the defenders lay on their
faces and breathed through wet cloths. Not a life
was lost on either side during a bombardment of thirty-
four hours, at the end of which time the fort surren-
dered.

For much of the remainder of the war the city was
blockaded and shelled by a Union fleet. But it held
out stoutly until Sherman’s army approached in Febru-
ary, 1865. ‘Then, after its public buildings, stores,
warehouses, and shipping had been fired by order of
the Confederate commander, it was evacuated.
Two Charming Cities 247
While still blockaded, the Confederates devised a

slender wooden vessel, the David, thirty-three feet long,
propelled by steam, that carried a torpedo on a pole,
forward. She would run awash, with her funnels and
upper works slightly out of water. The flagship of the
blockading fleet was torpedoed by her, but was crip-
pled, not destroyed. After that the Union ships that
were in the vicinity protected themselves with booms.
This led to the construction of a submarine. In appear-
ance it was something like a huge iron coffin, which was
not inappropriate, for she proved a death-trap to suc-
cessive crews on three trial trips. She was run by
hand. Eight men crowded together. turned a crank-
shaft that operated her propeller. Finally, after re-
peated sinkings, she was manned by a new crew and
succeeded in destroying a United States man-of-war
in the harbor, but she went down also, and every one
in her perished. This was the first submarine to ac-
tually torpedo a hostile war vessel.

Since the war the greatest event in the history of the
city is the destruction of half of it by an earthquake
on the night of August 31, 1886, with a loss of five mil-
lion dollars. ‘“‘We thought the town was doomed to
sink and be covered by the waters of the sea,”’ was the
comment made to me by one of the merchants, “and
the niggers were certain the end of the world had come.
They all stopped chicken stealing and went to pray-
ing.”

As a shipping port the place handles large quantities
248 Highways and Byways of Florida

of cotton and rice, but its prosperity depends most of
all on the trade in phosphate, large deposits of which
underlie the region. But in the main the currents of
industrial and commerical enterprise move gently, and
the town retains all its ancient dignity and repose.
It has been called the “aristocratic capital of the United
States.” Certainly the aspect of its homes conforms
to that title. The eye delights in beholding the great
cool-looking mansions with their broad verandas, and
their snug little formal gardens and fine trees, and the
marvelous profusion of flowers and vines.

The town’s most interesting historic building is the
Colonial Exchange erected in 1771. In it General
Moultrie walled up one hundred thousand pounds of
gunpowder which remained undiscovered during the
three years that the British held the place. Patriot
prisoners were confined in the basement. When Gen-
eral Washington visited Charleston after the Revolu-
tion, a ball and reception in his honor were held in the
building.

St. Philip’s Church, which replaces one destroyed
by fire in 1835, has a steeple nearly two hundred feet
high, from which there shines a beacon light at night
to guide mariners at sea. When the Civil War was being
fought, its bells were melted and made into Confeder-
ate cannon.

The finest piece of colonial architecture in the South
is St. Michael’s Church, which was first opened for serv-
ice in 1761. It was given a coat of black paint in the
 
 

A home entrance
Two Charming Cities 249

Revolution when the assailing British fleet was expected.
The object was to make it a less conspicuous guide to
the harbor. When the British gained possession of the
town they stabled their horses in the church. It has
a very musical chime of eight bells. Besides calling to
worship, and sending forth their pealing notes on all
occasions of public joy and sorrow, the bells rang a
nightly curfew, which warned the negroes home at nine
o’clock in winter, and ten in summer, and announced
to white visitors that the time for leave-taking had
come. In the Civil War, when the cannonballs from
the blockading fleet began to strike the church, the
bells were taken down and sent to Columbia, the capital
of the State, for safe-keeping. The silver plate was
sent thither at the same time. Bells and silver might
better have remained in Charleston, for Columbia
was looted and burned. A few pieces of the silver have
been recovered. One was found in a New York pawn-
shop, and another in a small Ohio town. The bells were
so damaged that they were sent to England, where
they were recast from the original patterns by the
successors of the firm which had made them in 1764.
When the ship that brought them back arrived, the
people went in procession to receive the beloved bells,
and with prayers and thanksgivings replaced them in
the church tower. Their music, which is perhaps the
most characteristic of all the city’s sounds, has been
called “the voice of Charleston.”

The city takes especial pride in the district around
250 Highways and Byways of Florida

“The Battery,” which is a grassy park thickset with
sturdy oaks. Here are several big cannon. They look
ready for business, but they have long been obsolete,
and now serve only for ornamental purposes and as
mementos of a stirring past. Another reminder of the
Civil War is Fort Sumter which you can see from the
Battery far off across the bay on its tiny island. Back
of the park are the finest residences of the place. The
section is particularly well suited for wharves and ware-
houses, but the city would never think of sacrificing
the park, and the adjacent home owners have steadily
refused to part with their holdings for commercial
purposes.

The residences bordering the Battery are modern
and well cared-for, but at a little remove are others of
great age and curious architecture. Some of these are
dilapidated and falling to decay and look as if they
could tell ghostly stories. The picturesqueness of the
town is emphasized by the numerous trees that shadow
the thoroughfares, and by the cobblestone paving that
is still retained on many of the streets; and there are
odd little alleys and secluded rookeries full of interest
if you know how to find them.

The negroes who make up so large a proportion of
the population inhabit the shabby byways and out-
skirts. Most of them live from hand to mouth. They
get astonishingly minute quantities of groceries, and
often they buy a one-cent stick of wood ata time. They
really suffer a good deal in the chilly days of winter
Two Charming Cities 251

from lack of ability to purchase enough wood to keep
themselves warm. For water supply they depend
largely on the street hydrants, and the children are all
the time going to these hydrants toting empty pails
and cans and returning with them full. The colored
people do quite a little trading with fish and vegetable
peddlers, who hawk their wares from door to door.
Some of the tradesmen carry their stocks in a basket
on their heads, others push about small wagons. Their
cries are for the most part strange and half articulated
and are seldom intelligible to a stranger. I made out
that one of the peddlers was calling, ““Hyar’s Cheap
John come again—okra, cabbage, eggs, potatoes—hyar’s
Cheap John come again!”

Once I spent an evening rambling about the old town.
It was very gloomy. Even the main thoroughfares
were dimly lighted, and the lesser ways were almost
black. I passed through one street in the negro quarter
where were many curious little shops—very rude, low-
ceiled, and crowded. Some of them were illumined by
a faint gas jet or two, others only by a kerosene lamp,
and the dusky faces and uncouth figures of the peo-
ple in the shops gave an effect rather uncanny and
ogreish.

Down on the wharves a steamer was unloading, and
a swarm of colored laborers with much shouting and
noise was hurrying the cargo out of the vessel’s hold
on to the pier. They worked with vigor and effective-
ness, and I could not but admire their skill and energy.
252 Highways and Byways of Florida

Later, when they had finished, I came across them up
in the town being paid off. They had gathered along
the sidewalk curbing opposite a lighted doorway, and
each man, as his name was called, stepped over to the
door and received his money. Their clothing was sadly
tattered, and sometimes the coins slipped through the
recipients’ pockets and had to be gathered up from the
pavement. A number of women were in the crowd—
most of them wives intent on seeing that their husbands
did not make away with the money earned before they
had a chance at it. One very watchful woman stationed
near the door where the payments were made was the
proprietor of a cookshop. A young fellow with a small
account book was at her elbow assisting her to collect
her dues. The coins, as they were surrendered, were
received on a corner of a handkerchief laid across her
palm, and in which she evidently intended later to tie
them up. Another tradeswoman was a little old crea-
ture carrying a tin platter of “groundnut cakes” —that
is, peanut candy. This candy sold readily, and for some
of the workers it served as a supper. The woman had
a newspaper from which she allowed her customers to
tear off a piece for use in wrapping their sweets.

A policeman, who stood by to keep the sidewalk
passably clear, informed me that nearly all of the colored
workers’ earnings would disappear that night, playing
games of craps. Usually the player only staked five
or ten cents on the throw of the two dice, but some-
times risked a dollar, or, it may be, all he had. The
IANIJUIQDUOT 7D IUdIS 4dB14 P

 
  
 

©De

The Ailonthe beach on Tybee Island near Savannah
Two Charming Cities 253

policeman commented, “They would die, I reckon,
if they couldn’t play craps.”

Not far away was the public market—a broad low
building a half mile long. Rude stalls lined the inter-
minable central corrider on either side, stocked for the
most part with meats or green groceries, but occasion-
ally with fancy goods. One dealer who attracted my
attention was a gray elderly man, fat and bushy-whis-
kered, wearing a big apron, and having much the ap-
pearance of an ancient cave dweller. His specialty was
carving little trinkets from shells. Some stalls had
white proprietors, some colored. The green groceries,
in particular, were apt to have perched up among them
a black old granny adorned with turban and earrings.
Numerous customers were loitering through, haggling
and buying. But though some of the stalls were very
busy, others were very quiet. In one of the latter two
men were leaning over a checkerboard, and a woman
was looking on while business was entirely forgotten.

The stranger who visits the market in the daytime
is perhaps most impressed by the buzzards which hover
around the roof and walk about in their ungainly way
on the near paving. They nest off across the bay on
the sea islands, but every morning they return in
stately winged procession to the offal of the market-
place. The buzzard is a native bird of the South with
a marked individuality, and its presence in the neigh-
borhood of the venerable market adds to the city’s at-
traction. Indeed, Charleston, in all its aspects has
254 Highways and Byways of Florida

notable interest, and every Northern visitor falls in
love with it at first sight.

Savannah, the first settlement in the state of Georgia,
dates back to 1733, when General Oglethorpe arrived
with about one hundred and thirty colonists. At that
time were there more than a hundred offenses for which
a person could be hanged in England, and the law was
specially severe toward debtors. Oglethorpe’s primary
idea in founding a colony was to provide a means of
freeing debtors from prison and giving them a fresh
start in life. On the first day of February, in the year
mentioned, Savannah consisted of four tents pitched
under four pine trees near the edge of a bluff overlook-
ing the river of the same name, eighteen miles from the
Atlantic.

The Savannah of to-day is one of the prettiest of
Southern cities, with more well-kept parks than any
other city in the world. There is a little public square
at nearly every corner, and one of the wide streets has
a double row of big trees running right down the mid-
dle of it with grass under them; and there on the green
lawn the little children can be seen playing even in
midwinter. Originally the little parks were used as
market-places and rallying points in case of Indian
attack. The abundance of semi-tropical foliage and
of airy spaces gives the city a very distinctive and
charming quality. One of Savannah’s popular year
round seaside resorts is Tybee Island, and another is
Thunderbolt, famous for fish and oysters. There is
Two Charming Cities 255

excellent quail shooting in the vicinity, and the
creeks and marshes are populous with ducks in their
season.

William Jasper, whose exploit with the flag at Fort
Moultrie made him known as the bravest of the brave,
was in consequence given a roving commission, with
the privilege of selecting such men as he pleased from
his regiment to accompany him in his enterprises, and
Savannah was more closely associated with his after
life than any other place. While out on one of his ex-
cursions his sympathies were aroused by the distress
of a Mrs. Jones, whose husband, though an American
by birth, was accused of being a deserter from the royal
cause. Jones, who had been held a prisoner at a British
camp in the northwestern part of the state, was being
taken to Savannah to be hanged. Jasper and one com-
panion concealed themselves in some thick bushes near
a spring two and a half miles west of the city on the
Augusta road. He was quite sure that the guard would
halt there with the prisoners. In this conjecture he
was right. When the party arrived only two men of
the guard of eight remained to watch the prisoners.
The others leaned their muskets against a tree and went
to the Spring. Jasper and his comrade leaped from
their concealment, seized two of the guns, shot the
armed guards, and took possession of the remainder of
the muskets. The other guards were helpless, and sur-
rendered. The irons were knocked off the wrists of the
prisoners, muskets were placed in their hands, and the
256 Highways and Byways of Florida

British were taken to the American camp. The spring
is still there by the wayside just within the edge of a
marshy tract of forest. It is the only spring of pure
water in the vicinity and is much resorted to by passing
travelers.

At the very end of 1778 the British captured Charles-
ton, and the next October the Americans were defeated
in a determined effort to retake it. In this battle the
gallant Jasper was killed while endeavoring to plant an
American flag on a redoubt at Spring Hill, now the site
of the Georgia Railway.

The famous Revolutionary general, Nathanael
Greene, a native of Rhode Island, moved, after the
war, to Georgia. There, in recognition of his services,
he was given an estate known as Mulberry Grove,
not far up the river from Savannah. The former owner
of the estate, a man named Graham, had a vault in
Colonial Cemetery—now a city park that is very
interesting with its old tombs and gravestones. Greene
took over the vault with the property, and when he
died was buried in it. After a while people forgot
where his remains lay, and later, when Rhode Island
decided to erect a monument to his memory in Savan-
nah, the body of the general could not be found to
put under it. However, this did not put a stop to the
monument project. Lafayette laid the cornerstone
when he visited Savannah in 1825. Greene’s remains
had been lost for more than a century when some one
thought of opening the Graham vault in 1902. Then
Two Charming Cities 257

they were reinterred in their proper resting-place be-
neath the monument which had so long awaited them.

In Greene’s house at Mulberry Grove the shrewd
New England Yankee, Eli Whitney, invented his in-
genious cotton-gin which made the whole South opu-
lent. Whitney was a tutor in the Greene home after
the general’s death, and at Mrs. Greene’s suggestion
he attempted to contrive “a machine that would pick
the seed out of cotton.” His first machine, completed
in 1793, did in five hours, work which, if done by hand,
would take one man two years. It was an epoch-
making invention.

The first steamship ever built in the United States
was owned in Savannah, bore the name of the city,
and in April, 1819, sailed for England, where it arrived
twenty-two days later.

General Sherman’s army captured Savannah in De-
cember, 1864. It was then a place of twenty thousand
people.

An unusual attraction for tourists, five miles north-
west on the Savannah River, is “The Hermitage,” a
plantation of the ante-bellum days, where the old man-
sion and slave dwellings may be inspected.

But the one thing that every stranger goes to see as
a matter of course is the ancient and picturesque estate
of Bonaventure, four miles east of the city, which for
a long time has been used as a cemetery. Here are
solemn avenues of gigantic live oaks with their ever-
green leafage, and their guarled branches feathered
258 Highways and Byways of Florida

with ferns and parasitic plants, and draped with pend-
ant swaying masses of gray fairy-like moss. The effect
is singularly weird in its charm, and the tombs, urns,
and obelisks gleaming here and there among the shad-
ows add to the impressiveness. The streamers of moss
are four or five feet long, and the whole place seems to
be dripping with them. One youthful visitor has said
that it looked as if this was a graveyard for old long-
bearded men, and that their beards were all hung in
the trees before they were buried. An older visitor has
said, “So beautiful is nature in the grand old forest
graveyard that almost any sensible person would choose
to dwell here with the dead rather than with the lazy
disorderly living.”

One of the most curious incidents connected with
Bonaventure occurred in the autumn of 1867. John
Muir, the well-known naturalist, was making a long
walking tour from Indiana to Florida. He expected,
when he arrived at Savannah, to find at the post-office
funds he had ordered sent to him to enable him to con-
tinue his journey. The money was delayed until the
following week. After spending the first night at the
meanest looking lodging-house he could discover, on
account of its cheapness, the amount in his purse was
reduced to about a dollar and a half. During the day
he visited Bonaventure. Only a small plot was occupied
by graves, and the mansion of the former owner of the
domain was there in ruins. Never before had Muir
seen so impressive a company of trees as the moss-
Two Charming Cities 259

draped oaks. There were thousands of smaller trees
and clustered bushes. The place was half surrounded
by salt marshes, and among the trees along the side
of the marshes many bald eagles roosted.

Toward night, when Muir was again in the town, it
occurred to him that the graveyard was an ideal place
for a penniless wanderer to sleep. Thither he went, and
entered the weird and beautiful abode of the dead in
the silent hour of the gloaming. Though tired, he
sauntered a while enchanted, then lay down under one
of the great oaks. He found a little mound that served
for a pillow, and he rested fairly well in spite of certain
large prickly-footed beetles that crept across his hands
and face, and a lot of hungry stinging mosquitoes.

When he awoke, the sun was up. He heard the
screaming of the bald eagles, and of some strange waders
in the rushes, and the noise of crows, and the songs of
countless warblers hidden deep in their leafy-bowered
dwellings. He heard too the hum of Savannah with
the long halloos of negroes far away. On rising he found
that his head had been resting on a grave. His sleep
had not been quite as sound as that of the person below,
but he got up refreshed. The morning sunbeams poured
through the oaks dripping with dew, and the beauty
displayed gave him such delight that hunger and care
seemed only a dream.

Later in the day he chose a spot in a dense thicket
of sparkleberry bushes near the bank of the river and
prepared a nest with a roof to keep off the dew. Four
260 Highways and Byways of Florida

of the bushes served as corner posts for his little hut,
which was about five feet long by three wide. He tied
branches across from forks in the bushes to support a
roof of rushes, and spread a thick mattress of long
moss over the ground for a bed.

Each day he visited Savannah to inquire for the ex-
pected funds, and each night returned to his grave-
yard hut after dark that he might not be observed and
suspected. One night, as he lay down in his moss nest,
he felt some cold-blooded creature—whether a snake
or a frog or a toad he did not know—and he hastily
grasped it and threw it over the tops of the bushes.

All the time his money was diminishing, and he tried
unsuccessfully to get work. He was becoming seriously
hungry, and was giddy as he walked when, after five
days of graveyard life, the funds came. Scarcely had
he left the post-office with his cash when he met a very
large negro woman with a tray of gingerbread, and
_ promptly bought some of it. He munched it as he
walked along, then found an eating-place and had a
generous regular meal on top of the gingerbread.

Most of us would hardly care to. repeat the young
naturalist’s experiences at Bonaventure, ‘and yet ad-
ventures, if not too strenuous, always add zest to the
tourist’s enjoyment, especially in the backlook.
Index

Alligators, 49, 63, 67, 74, 88, 137)
144, 178, 179, 185, 191, 237

Anastasia Island, 26, 30, 47

Anclote River, 137

Apalachicola River, 108, 197

Audubon, 181

Bananas, 93, 98, 206

Bartram, John, 176

Bears, 58, 64, 80, 95, 146, 164, 179
Big Cypress Swamp, 262, 173, 239
“Big Freeze,” 207

Billy Bowlegs, 169

Biscayne Bay, 88

Blue Spring, 70

Bulowville, 182

Burroughs, John, 195

Caloosahatchee River, 122, 167

Camphor trees, 64

Cape Canaveral, 26

Cattle, 58, 59, 195, 216

Cedar Keys, 135, 136, 194

Centipedes, 232

Charleston, 37, 242

‘Charleston Earthquake, 117, 247

Charlie Apopka Creek, 122

Charlotte Harbor, 142

Choctawhatchee Bay, 105

Cigar making, 198

Civil War, 40, 54, 77, 85, 97, 102,
109, I19, 139, 144, 2455 257

Clay Spring, 123

Coacoochee—See “Wild Cat”
Coquina, 32, 35, 42, 48

Coral, 89

Cormorants, 82, 186
Cows—See Cattle

“Crackers,” 131

Crops, 58, 130

Crocodiles, 240

Cypress, 65, 222

Daytona, 74

Deer, 58, 80, 95, 138, 146, 164, 177,
180, 233

Devils Mill Hopper, 123

De Soto, 3

Drake, Sir Francis, 29

Drum fish, 83

Dry Tortugas—See Tortugas

Ducks, 64, 82, 138

Dunnellon, 71, 124

Eagles, 66
Everglades, 50, 86, 88, 160, r6r

Fernandina, 189

Fish, 51, 58, 64, 81, 82, 84, 94, 99,
III, 143, 182, 198

Flowers, 2, 59, 113, 116, 163, 190,
209

Fort Brooke (Tampa), 138, 154,
156

Fort Caroline, 21, 24, 29

Fort King (Ocala), 152, 156

261
262

Fort Marion—See Fort San Marco
Fort Myers, 143, 168

Fort San Marco, 31, 35

Frosts, 62, 127, 130, 177, 178, 206
Fruit, 59, 93, 125, 129

Gainesville, 123, 192
Grapefruit, 125, 128

Green Cove Springs, 63
Gulf Stream, 84, 85, 89, 20r

Halifax River, 73, 182
Hammocks, 78

Hawk Channel, 89, 96
Hawkins, Sir John, 21
Herons, 66, 186, 228
Hillsboro River, 77
Hogs, 58

Homosassa, 136

Indian River, 51, 78, 229
Indigo, 75

Jackson, Andrew (“Old Hickory’’),
52, 108, 109, 149, 154

Jacksonville, 51, 56, 201

Jupiter Inlet, 78, 85

Key Largo, 93, 95
Key West, 89, 239
Kissimmee River, 122

Labelle, 168

Lafayette, Marquis de, 115
Lake City, 53

Lake District, 121

Lake George, 176

Lake Jackson, 117

Index

Lakeland, 124

Lake Newmans, 123

Lake Okechobee, 122, 157, 168
Lake Tuscawilla, 123

Lake Woodruff, 185

Lake Worth, 85

Live Oaks, 116, 221

Long Key, 94, 96

Long Moss Spring, 118

Magnolias, 192, 22r
Mahogany trees, 93
Malabar, 229

Manatee, 142

Manatee (Sea Cow), 83
Mandarin, 60

Mangroves, 79, 101, 144, 145
Matanzas Inlet, 26, 49, 73, 76
Menendez, Pedro, 22, 29
Merritts Island, 83

Miami, 87

Miami River, 167

Micanopy, 123

Miccosukee, 149
Mocking-birds, 116
Mosquitoes, 94, 164, 180, 232
Mosquitoes, “Blind,” 186
Mosquito Inlet, 73, 74
Mount Pleasant, 196

Muir, John, 189, 258

Murat, Prince, 114

Narvaez, de, 6, 103
New River, 167
New Smyrna, 74

Ocala, 70, 124, 152
Ocklawaha River, 64, 150
Index

Oglethorpe, General, 32, 254

Olustee, 55

Orange Park, 61

Oranges, 62, 67, 83, 125, 129, 198,
207

Oranges, Wild, 127, 185

Ormond, 73

Osceola, 37, 152, 153, 245

Oysters, 73, 74, 81, 93, 146

Palatka, 50, 57, 63
Palmettoes, 84, 180, 190, 193, 219
Palmetto scrub, 184, 217
Palm Beach, 85

Palms, 86, 93, 98
Panasopher Hammock, 126
Peace Creek, 124, 152
Pelican Island, 230
Pelicans, 82, 186, 195, 228
Pensacola, 17, 106, 197
Phosphate, 124

Picolata, 45

Pineapples, 80, 92

Pines, 212

Pirates, 31, 34, 92, 161, 242
Pithlachacootee River, 188
Ponce de Leon, 1, 101

Rainy season, 202
Red bugs, 232
Ribaut, Jean, 20, 22
Rockledge, 84

Saint Augustine, 20, 23, 76, 156, 159,
177, 178, 180, 188, 197, 205

Saint Johns Bluff, 21

Saint Johns River, 20, 22, 45, 50,
72, 176, 186

263

Saint Lucie River, 83, 84

Saint Marks, 119

Saint Marks Bay, 104

Saint Petersburg, 140

Sand Key, ror

Sanford, 50, 64

Santa Rosa Inlet, 10g

Sarasota, 142

Savannah, 254

Saw grass, 163

Saw Grass Lake, 50

Saw Palmetto—See Palmetto Scrub

Scorpions, 232

Sea-going railway, 95

Seminoles, 88, 148, 186, 240

Seminole War, 122

Shark River, 166

Shell mounds, 58, 70, 73, 75, 81,
138, 130, 181

Silver Springs, 69

Snakes, 164, 181, 233, 239

Spanish bayonet, 43, 135

Spanish moss, 184, 222

Sponges, 100, 137

Spring Garden Creek, 185

Springs, 1, 49, 63, 69, 88, 117, 122,
136, 178, 179, 185

Stowe, Harriet Beecher, 60

Summer, 72, 135, 201, 202

Suwannee River, 120

Tallahassee, 16, 52, rrr

Tampa, 4, 138, 156, 160

Tarpon, 136, 141, 142

Tarpon Springs, 136

Tecoi, 46

Ten Thousand Islands, 143
Thompson, General Wiley, 152, 153
264

Titusville, 83

Tobacco, 22

Tomoka River, 39, 74

Tortugas, roz, 188

Trees, 77, 93, 98, 112, 126, 220

Trouble Creek, 138

Turkeys (Wild), 58, 64, 80, 95, 138,
177, 180, 227

Turpentine, 214

Turtles, 66, 80, 84, 88, 99, 102,
188, 234

Wahoo Swamp, 154, 155
Wakulla Spring, 117

Index

Wakulla Volcano, 118

Water Hyacinth, 59

Water turkies, 231

West Palm Beach, 169

Whip-poor-wills, 227

Whitewater Bay, 166

“Wild Cat,” 37, 155, 159, 160

Winter, 72, 82, 111, 129, 135, 183,
195, 201

Winter Park, 123

Withlacoochee River, 154

Wolves, 179

Worth, General, 159,

Wreckers, 91, 188

Printed in the United States of America
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ree eee
fare