Terms, Five Dollars a Year, j 

 Ten Cents a Copy. ) 



NEW YORK, THURSDAY, NOV. 20, 1873. 



I Volume I, Number 15. 

 | 103 Fulton Street. 



THE CANVAS-BACK DUCK. 



IN sharp November, from afar, 

 From Northern river, stream and lake 

 The flocks of noble canvas-back, 



Their migratory journeys make. 

 The frosty morning finds them spread 



Along the flats of Barnegat, 

 Where grows the valisneria root, 



The duck-grass with its bulbous thread. 

 But chief where Chesapeake receives 



From Susquehannah. brackish tides, 

 By calm Potomac and the James, 



Feeding at will from morn till eve, 

 Mid those aquatic pastures green, 



The ribbon'd grass and bulbous root 

 Where slant the yellow sedges lean. 



By myriads there the wild fowl come 



To taste the rich, delicious fare, 

 The red head and the canvas-back 



The widgeon with its plumage rare, 

 The ruddy-duck, the buffer-head. . 



The broad bill and Canadian goose, 

 Loving o'er placid shoal or cove 



Their winnowing pinions to unloose. 



Through all the day, dispersed around 



They swim and circle o'er the bay, 

 And at the eve, in gather'd flocks 



To mouth of creeks they take their way, 

 Where some a wakeful vigil keep, 



Others at anchor float asleep. 



And when the winter keen sets in, 



And frozen is the. river's face 

 To its salt confluence with the bay 



The flocks seek out their feeding place. 

 And where across the ice, a pool 



Of open water they discern, 

 The hungry flocks t' eir flight suspend 



And toward the friendly pasture turn; 

 And tyere the lurking fowler waits, 



(Amid the ice-blocks hid from sight) 

 With heavy gun and deadly aim, 



To thin the numbers that alight. Isaac MoLellan. 

 -*♦•► - 



$$ild J$fe in ^loridu. 

 — ♦ — 



A SEMI-TROPICAL PARADISE. 



NUMBER THREE. 



IN Florida, eighty miles due south of St. Augustine, lies 

 an immense lagoon of salt watfcr, called by the old 

 Spaniards Rio d'Ais, by the Indians Aisa Natcha, and 

 by Floridians Indian River. Called by whatever name it 

 may be it is the most wonderful portion of that wonderful 

 State. Wonderful for its bland and genial climate ; won- 

 derful for its birds, beasts, and fishes ; wonderful, above 

 all, for its people, who live in such a state of indolence as 

 causes a Northerner to shudder. Situated mainly below 

 the frost line, many tropical fruits reach perfection beneath 

 its burning sun. The lime, lemon guava, banana, pine- 

 apple, citron, and, of course, the orange, in perfection. 

 The climate here is peculiarly adapted to the needs of the 

 consumptive, and he can live here for years in apparent 

 health after other climates have been tried in vain. 



People who have tried California, Minnesota, and the 

 various resorts in the Old World, have pronounced Indian 

 River in advance of them all. The difficulties attending a 

 trip here, and the insufficient accommodations, have pre- 

 vented its advantages — its natural advantages — from be- 

 coming generally known. The steamer up the St. John's, 

 from Jacksonville to Salt Lake, a distance of two hundred 

 and seventy-five miles, and a portage of six miles will bring 

 • the traveller to the banks of Indian River, at Harvey's or 

 Sand Point, where boats and guides may be hired down the 

 river to Jupiter, one hundred and thirty miles further. The 

 cost of transportation from New York to Sand Point will 

 be about sixty dollars. The visitor had better camp, and 

 bring with him such articles of need as a camper-out ap- 

 preciates. An outfit may be purchased at Jacksonville 

 *at a trifling advance on New York prices. It was thus 

 that I prepared to enjoy the pleasures of Indian River. 

 The middle of March found : me waiting at Harvey's for a 

 favorable wind down the river. 



Though the sand that lined the many bays was white as 

 snow, and the palms, with their columnar trunks and dark 

 green - fronds, ma4e graceful pictures, I was tired of gazing 

 upon the same ones day after day, and finally persuaded 

 my boatman to visit the upper portion of the river before 

 descending. A nor'west wind had driven the water upon 

 the opposite shore two days before, and left his little boat 

 high and dry, with fifty feet of sand flats intervening be- 

 tween her and navigation. But the wind again hauled 

 south'ard, deluging the western shore with returning waters 

 and enabling us to get under way. As this wind was con- 

 trary for a down river trip, we headed for a different quar- 

 ter, purposing to visit the largest orange grove in Florida, 

 so said to be, and the best. Ten miles sailing in a north- 

 easterly direction brought us to the landing. Did you, 

 reader, ever inhale the fragrance of a cluster of orange 

 blossoms? You remember the exquisite penerating per- 

 fume. Well, add to the cluster tens of thousands more — 

 the efflorescence of two thousand trees. The subtle odor 

 enveloped our boat in a cloud of incense, evoked by the 

 sun and wafted to our senses by a gentle breeze. A mile 

 away we were made aware of the existence of the grove, 

 yet hidden from us by a circling belt of palms. Two thou- 

 sand trees, in long straight rows, their glossy green tops 

 flecked with immaculate blossoms, a carpet of emerald 

 spangled with snowy stars. In the centre of the grove we 

 found the residence, of the proprietor, Captain Dummitt, a 

 log cabin with palmetto-thatched roof. Think of a log 

 cabin in the garden of Eden ! But this is but one of the 

 worthy Captain's peculiarities. There is a mystery sur- 

 rounding him which he never vouchsafes to break. Even 

 in his cups — I should say buckets — never a word is uttered 

 regarding his seclusion from the world. Known far and 

 near as a hard drinker, he is ever the same well-bred gen- 

 tleman, be he drunk or sober. 



He and Tom R. once started down the river to perform 

 some work at the lower grove. Before setting out he gave 

 Tom $20 to purchase provisions with. Aforesaid provi- 

 sions are purchased according to his, and, may be, the Cap- 

 tain's fancy. Whiskey, $17 50; hard tack, "jest to chaw 

 on, you know," $1 50; pork, $1. Two bottles of whiskey 

 Tom adds on his own account. The Captain also laid in a 

 choice stock. Thus armed they set sail, burning with an 

 unquenchable ardor for work. 



"There's old Bob; 'twould be kinder mean to pass him 

 without a smile," says Tom." 



"That's so; let's land." 



They land; they "smile;" the smiles broaden into a grin, 

 and the proposition to call the entire male population of 

 that section and have "a reg'lar time" is hailed with uni- 

 versal acclamation. Times, that is "reg'lar times," are 

 much in vogue on Indian River, to the great absorption 

 and waste of Time, the old father. It was rather up hill 

 work drinking the old Captain drunk, but the Southern 

 people are always earnest in a worthy cause, and he was 

 finally deposited upon a heap of oyster shells "dead gone." 

 In the morning he said to Tom, "I presume I was a little 

 intoxicated last evening." 



"You were just that, and the dog gondest, too, that I 

 ever see!" 



"Well, it's no use working with whiskey around; pass 

 us the bottle." 



"It's all gone!" 



"Gone! then we'd better be sailing for Sand Point, for 

 I'm d d if I'll work without whiskey." 



This was related to me while I camped near the grove at 

 night, and I give it as I think of it, trusting the reader will 

 pardon the digression. 



Twenty-five years ago Captains C. and D. found the 

 grove while hunting. A judicious grafting of the wild trees 

 procured in a few years bountiful returns. The crops have 

 sometimes been enormous— seven hundred thousand in a 

 single year. Over half a million of the largest, juciest 

 oranges in America! Camping there that night, it was 

 noon the next day before a fair down-river wind came 

 along. When it did come a storm came with it, and we 

 departed, aoccompanied by the flash of lightning and the 



heavy rolling of thunder. After rounding Black Point our 

 little craft drove straight on, heading with the river south 

 southeast, passing Sand Point, Joyner's, Jones' Point, and 

 all the other points on the western shore, six miles of water 

 intervening. We draw near the western shore, and sail 

 along its high pine covered banks, driving before the fu- 

 rious wind with only 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 pa- 

 tience 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 "turned 

 in" 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. John's and this lagoon, Lake Washington being the 

 end of navigation on the St. John's, six miles away. • 

 Though I don't take stock in the company, I doubt not its 

 utility if navigation on the St. John's 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, support- 

 ing a scanty soil covered with a rich growth of beautiful 

 palms, tall century plants, and Lisal hemp. Two crescent 

 shaped bays, one facing north the other south, curved in- 

 land, their shores a firm, snowy sand. Landing I soon dis- 

 covered a small grove of orange trees, being guided to them 

 by their fragrant blossoms. Here I discovered the only 

 evidence of civilization I had seen this side of the river, 

 an object that once must have caused joy in the household, 

 and sadness for its loss. A piano, covered with a few 

 boards, its legs shattered, and it's keys rattling in the wind, 

 stood where once had been a home. It was the old story 

 of war's. desolation and ruined fortune that accounted for 

 this lone memento of better days in a forest five miles from 

 the nearest house. 



At this place is the southern end of Merritt's Island, 

 which parts Indian River, the portion east, between the 

 island and the coast, being known as Banana River, and 

 that west retaining its old name. Cape Canaveral i's not 

 far distant, where lives the best man on the river, Captain 

 Burnham, keeper of the lighthouse there. From the light 

 house down I counted six wrecks, thrown upon the shore 

 in a September gale. Making a fire from driftwood, we 

 soon had flapjacks and potatoes enough for our inner man 

 It was here that I received a lesson in cleanliness I shall 

 not soon forget. I had omitted to piovide myself with a 

 dish cloth, and while the Captain was cursing my heedless- 

 ness, I went off for some Spanish moss in lieu thereof 

 What was my surprise upon returning to find the plates 

 dry, and apparently clean. 



"Where did you find a cloth?" 



"Oh, I took my handkerchief!" * 



Now, the 'kerchief was the Captain's only article imthafc 

 line; a very dirty and greasy bandana, which, besides, doing 

 duty in a nasal way, was frequently applied to his, watery 

 optics, making its cleanliness a matter of doubt. When I 

 remonstrated with him he declared I was "the diutiest cuss 

 he ever see," and enquired s?rcastically if I thought he was 

 a fool. The cause of his wrath, I afterwards ascertained 

 was not my objections, but that I had overlooked the fact 

 of his washing it, which he had done in the drinking water 

 bucket. The native goodness of his character was made 

 manifest that night, when, after keeping silent all day he 

 extended his hand with the remark "he guessed 'twas all 



About fifty-five miles from Harvey's is Turkey Creek 

 where is the only banana plantation of any extent on the 

 river. The huge plants, with their broad green leave! and- 

 curiously formed fruit and flowers, were beautiful and nic 

 turesque. They contrasted favorably with the stunted 

 ftw Wtt* Pi**te I had, seen on the St. John> B I S!l' 

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