UP THE ST. JOHNS RIVER. 95 



under the sliadeless pines used up our time, while a 

 little asthmatic tea-kettle of a steam-engine was being 

 tinkered into going condition. Finally, ready for its 

 task, it was hitched to two dilapidated boxes on wheels, 

 into which, by tight crowding, we succeeded in squeez 

 ing ourselves. The day was chilly, the cars full of 

 cracks and drafts ; where there should have been 

 windows but the holes remained ; and water-proofs and 

 capes had to be substituted for glass. We needed but a 

 rain to complete our discomfort. The road itself is, if 

 possible, more disgraceful than the cars, the rails of pine 

 and cypress (no iron) were worn, chipped, shivered, and 

 rotten. We smashed one flat to the ties, and had a 

 narrow escape from being capsized into the swamp ; and 

 had our engine the power to have bumped us along a 

 few feet further, we should have had a serious, perhaps 

 fatal, accident to wind up our pleasure trip. As it was, 

 all hands turned out, and lifting our crazy vans again 

 upon the track, we crawled along for nearly five hours, 

 delaying at times to put a new rail on the track, to dip 

 a few bucketf uls of muddy water from the ditch into tho 

 boiler, or to cut up a log to furnish nutriment to our 

 wheezy little engine. At last, the fifteen miles accom 

 plished, we reached St. Augustine tired and worn-out. 

 May we never have to go over that road again. The 

 road leads through a swampy country, and some of the 

 scenery was almost grand : great cypress trees, with 

 their swollen feet standing in murky pools, and draped 

 with huge &quot;weepers&quot; of gray moss hanging from every 

 branch three to six feet in length ; foul turkey-buzzards 

 resting upon the lofty trees, or sailing about in muffled, 

 noiseless flight, gave a funereal character to the scenery 

 from which Dante might have drawn his inspiration. I 



