CHAPTER XXIV. 



FOUR DAYS ON THE MYAKKA RIVER. 



THE CAMPING GROUND OF COUGHPENNSLOUGH THE " PALMEETER CAB- 

 BAGE" THE SPORTSMAN'S PARADISE i BECOME PIOUS SATAN TO 

 THE FRONT A MOSSY BED TA-WHOO-OO-OO-AH " GOBBLE, GOBBLE* 

 GOBBLE" THE WOODS ALIVE WITH SQUIRRELS THE BOUNDING 

 BUCK A FLOCK OF TURKEYS ROSEATE SPOONBILLS THE SAD 

 WORDS " GOOD-BYE." I 



ACCORDING to previous arrangement Jack harnessed the 

 horse and hitched him to the cart. We loaded in our tent, 

 blankets, provisions, ammunition, etc.; he took the lines, 

 and we were off for a four days' camp hunt on the Myakka 

 river. For several years past I have heard the praises of this 

 mystic region sung by sportsmen who have visited it and 

 experienced its charms, and the glowing accounts I received 

 of it from Mr. Webo and his family only served to heighten 

 my anxiety to see it with my own eyes. We left home at 

 half-past ten in the morning. Our route lay through a tract 

 of open pine woods, the monotony of which was relieved by 

 ponds scattered along the entire distance, at each of which 

 we got a shot or two at the large water birds, which always 

 hover around them. 



At half-past one o'clock we arrived at the scene of one of 

 Billy Bowlegs' old camping grounds during his war with the 

 United States troops. He gave it the poetical name of 

 Coughpennslough ; and it is said that one of his favorite 

 warriors lies buried not far from here, who was court-mar- 

 tialed according to the Indian custom and shot on account of 



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