ON THE EAST COAST OF FLORIDA. 227 



a half miles across the Key from Planter, which fronts on the ocean, 

 and is the only post-office between Miami and Key West. I always 

 have mail at Planter, so, whether going inside or outside, always 

 call for it. 



We anchored a few hundred feet from the shore, where there is a 

 dwelling house, tomato patch, pineapple patch, etc. During our 

 calls in previous years a Swede family were in charge of the place, 

 which belonged to a gentleman residing in Miami ; but this time we 

 found two colored men in charge, who were working the place. We 

 landed and asked the darkies if we could get a barrel or two of 

 water, and were told we could. 



In talking with them, we found they were from Daytona and had 

 worked for people whom Capt. John knew. I told my crew we 

 would all take a day off, so the ''captain, and the cook, and the 

 sailor, too," and myself, all walked across Key Largo to Planter, 

 over the worst trail you ever saw, through tomato, pineapple, and 

 cucumber patches, and through clumps of small timber, over coral 

 rock, through swamp, etc. 



In the brush and timber it was like " Nesmuck's " trail, which 

 finally ran up a tree into a squirrel hole. 



We reached Planter, however, about 10.30 or so, and found the 

 place entirely deserted. Three or four families reside in the place, 

 comprising probably twenty men, women and children. 



We four lounged around, sitting on the wharf, the house porches, 

 etc., an hour or so, and then walked back to the bay. When we 

 arrived the darkies were at work, and I said to them that we would 

 have to stay there until the next day, because all the people at Planter 

 were off to a Christmas frolic, or to church, and we could not get 

 our mail. I said, ''There was not a living soul in the place." 



The crew got a barrel of water and took it out to the boat, and, 

 except the cook, remained on shore some time. 



Finally, I had my dinner about half-past one, and the crew had 

 their' s about two o'clock, after which the captain went ashore, and 

 with one of the darkies went hunting for squirrels. 



The next morning the captain, the sailor, and myself walked over 

 to Planter after our mail. 



Mr. Johnson, the storekeeper and postmaster, was not there, the 

 office being in charge of his son, or nephew, a boy of about eighteen. 

 We had been there several times before and were well known. The 



