IN&quot; THE CYPKESS SWAMPS. 199 



Then I was sorry that I had killed the animal for mere 

 sport, and vowed I d not do it again. Yet so strong is 

 the instinct that, riding within forty yards of a deer 

 offering too beautiful a shot to resist I handed my gun 

 to my guide and let him shoot. But he didn t hit him, 

 and I wished I d fired instead. As the sun dipped below 

 the horizon we rode out upon the old military road that 

 crosses the peninsula from the Atlantic to the Gulf. 

 We struck it near the site of old Fort Dunn, the parade 

 ground of which is still in tolerable condition, and can 

 tering a mile or two further soon sighted the settler s 

 house, and were happy. 



Though this man owned hundreds of cattle, and 

 counted as his all the acres he desired, he had nothing 

 in the larder but a few sweet potatoes ; but he freely 

 shared those few. After a man has fasted twenty-four 

 hours, buttermilk^ and sweet potatoes will fill a void 

 acceptably. That night we slept beneath a roof, and I 

 shared a bed with four vigorous boys and about three 

 millions of very active fleas. Yet, though the fleas pos 

 sessed uncommon agility, and showed decidedly phle- 

 botomous dispositions, and though there was music in the 

 air, and everywhere else, from the joint and several 

 efforts of the various noses in the room, and though the 

 boys aforesaid procured a corner in blankets, and left 

 me open to the attacks of several very bloodthirsty bands 

 of mosquitoes, / slept. And it was sweet potatoes and 

 buttermilk that awoke me in the morning. Thirty 

 miles we accomplished before dark that day, riding 

 across the St. Johns prairies, which fairly swarmed with 

 turkeys, and over the Alapattie flats, where we found 

 the creeks, so dry when we left, full to overflowing. 

 What was my surprise, when I reached my guide s cabin, 



