A PEEP AT THE EVERGLADES 123 



impressed by the beauty and majesty of the 

 cypress, and many have no doubt puzzled them- 

 selves over the meaning of these strange, appar- 

 ently useless protuberances — as if nature had 

 attempted something and failed — that are so 

 constantly found underneath. " They never do 

 grow to be trees," my boatman said. 



It was at this point, as nearly as I remember, 

 that the stream grew narrow and shallow at 

 once, till behold, we were laboring up what 

 might fairly be called rapids. Here, between the 

 awkward crowding of the banks and the swift- 

 ness of the current (it was good, I said to my- 

 self, to see water actually running in Florida), 

 the men were certainly earning their money. 

 Fortunately, both proved equal to the task. 

 Then a bend in the stream took us away from 

 the neighborhood of the trees (not until, in one 

 of the cypresses, I had remarked my first Miami 

 nuthatch — a white-breast), and into the very 

 midst of the saw-grass. This densely growing, 

 sharp-edged, appropriately named grass, higher 

 than a man's head, standing to-day in two or 

 three feet of water, is said to cover the Ever- 

 glades. It must render them a frightful place 

 in which to lose one's way. "I should rather 

 be lost at sea in a rowboat," my oarsman de- 

 clared. 



