CRUISING ALOXG SHORE. 205 



the jib set. Night comes and finds us still sailing. The 

 moon struggles feebly with the clouds that threaten to 

 conceal her, and reveals the captain still at the helm. 

 The waves beat against his back, as he sits in grim 

 silence, enduring their buffetings with far more patience 

 than my infrequent questions. It is late at night ere he 

 comes to anchor in Elbow creek, and finds a slight shel 

 ter from the tempest. Thankful that, though wet. I 

 could not get wetter, as the rain had ceased, I crawled 

 under the sail, wrapped myself in my blanket, and fell 

 asleep. The captain never slept aboard, so he waded 

 ashore and &quot;turned in &quot; on the beach. The usual sleep 

 of the camper-out was granted me, long and unbroken, 

 and I was only awakened in the morning by the fall of 

 an oar. 



Elbow creek, with its fantastically worn coquina 

 banks, is selected as the Indian river terminus of a canal 

 to unite the St. Johns and this lagoon, Lake Washing 

 ton being the end of navigation on the St. Johns, six 

 miles away. Though I don t take stock in the company, 

 I. doubt not its utility, if navigation on the St. Johns will 

 warrant its being kept open all the year. A sail of five 

 miles across the river brought us to a jutting headland 

 of coquina, supporting a scanty soil, covered with a rich 

 growth of beautiful palms, tall century plants, and Sisal 

 hemp. Two crescent-shaped bays, one facing north, the 

 other south, curved inland, their shores a firm, snowy 

 sand. Landing, I soon discovered a small grove of 

 orange trees, being guided to them by their fragrant 

 blossoms. Here I discovered the only evidence of civili 

 zation I had seen this side of the river, an object that 

 once must have caused joy in the household, and sad 

 ness for its loss. A piano, covered with a few boards, its 



