wpe wos Nee ieee WW lhe wORED AS SMUG GihE KS: 
VAUGHAN KESTER. 
A brisk water trade is carried on be- 
tween Florida and certain of her neighbors 
on the South and East, and thrives apace, 
although the United States government 
maintains -a fleet of revenue cutters to 
suppress it. This unencouraged industry 
is known as “smuggling,” and is a serious 
offense in the eyes of the law. 
The staple commodities of contraband 
commerce are tobacco and liquor. Both 
can be exchanged to such good advantage 
that, in spite of attendant risk, many a 
Bahama Island sponger or Cuban trader 
carries, aS a matter of private speculation, 
a few demijohns of rum or boxes of 
cigars secreted in her cargo. Her cap- 
tainetinds atereasy, to idrop inshore. at 
some point where he knows from experi- 
ence the residents will not be too curious, 
and where his critical nostrils will not 
be offended by the scent of a revenue 
cutters smoke. There he disposes of his 
merchandise to the thrifty Floridian, who 
is keenly alive to the profits arising from 
such bargains. More frequently, how- 
ever, a regular prearra:iged traffic is en- 
gaged in,-and the cracker and the smug- 
gler meet by prearrangement and separate 
with mutual esteem. 
My knowledge of the smuggler’s meth- 
ods came by chance and in this fashion: 
My brother Bob and I were spending 
a winter in Florida and had started down 
the gulf coast on a cruise which began at 
Cedar Keys, where we bought a small 
sloop. As it had no cabin, we went ashore 
each evening to camp, though it was pos- 
sible to stow ourselves away, one on either 
side of the centerboard, with the mainsail 
fOiga COVE 
We were neither of us expert sailors and 
when there was any wind stirring the boat 
had a ghastly way of pounding in the 
darkness as she tugged at her anchor 
that quite upset us. Once—just once— 
we tried to sleep on the narrow deck that 
skirted the cockpit, and Bob, while under 
the spell of his dreams, lurched overboard 
with a mighty splash and a shriek of fear. 
Several days had been pleasantly spent 
in camping, fishing and sailing, and we 
had begun our cruise in earnest some 30 
miles South of our point of departure. It 
was disk and we were slowly creeping 
around a long line of the islands called St. 
‘Martin’s keys. A few stunted mangroves 
and an abundance of sawegrass are the only 
vegetation on them, At a distance they 
351 
show as a dirty streak of gray against the 
blue of the sky and water. 
The wind had failed us. Bob was sculling 
vigorously and, helped on by the tide, we 
worked our way in to a safe anchorage. 
Our bowsprit pointed to a low island 
with a solitary palmetto growing on its 
seaward end. Back of it the ground rose 
to prominence. Beyond that the main- 
land, with its numerous outlying keys and 
its heavy growth of palm, cypress, live 
oak and cedar, formed a desolate picture 
in keeping with the mournful call with 
which the marsh hens welcomed the in- 
coming tide. 
Fiance bObmwasmicehimes 1 toon = ber= 
haps he was thinking of the North that 
might be cold but was cheerful. We were 
close in shore and the sounding -pole 
told us it was time to stop progress in 
that direction, when Bob broke the si- 
lence. 
“Better let go,’ he said, suspending 
operations with the oar, and I permitted 
the anchor to slip gently into the water. 
We made the sloop snug and bundling 
our camp outfit into the dingy, rowed 
ashore almost at the foot of the solitary 
palmetto. I was at work unloading the 
boat when Bob said: 
lesayeastnats funinye, Isonet ite, 
“What?” I asked, looking around. 
“Why, don’t you see?” and he pointed 
fOMuMemtnees 
There was light enough still for me to 
see what he meant. Cross pieces had 
been nailed to the tree trunk, forming a 
rude ladder by which one might ascend to 
the tuft of foliage at its summit. 
“Tt must be a lookout,” I said; “though 
who could want one here? It can’t 
have changed in 1co years. It makes me 
feel like Christopher Columbus.” 
The question did not interest Bob just 
then; he was thinking of home. 
“Suppose we put up the tent before it 
ets shiny Weve, 1h abheexeral, 
“All right; only let’s find a decent place 
to pitch it first,’ he answered. We stum- 
bled around in the dusk until we found a 
little glade, screened by bushes. Here we 
pitched the tent, arranged our beds, built 
a fire and proceeded to get supper. It 
was so cheerful and homelike as we dis- 
posed ourselves about the camp fire that 
we forgot the blues entirely. 
DL iesismebalebadis ite. Robe said. as 
he pursued a choice bur elusive bit of 
