LOST IN A GEORGIA SWAMP. 



357 



before it can reach the warmer sections 

 of the country. 



Be this case as it may, we may consider 

 what will be the result to the peninsula of 

 the destruction of the forests in the State. 

 At present the country is especially well 

 supplied with water, but when these great 

 areas are stripped of the protection afforded 

 by the trees it would appear that there must 

 follow a marked dessication of the soil. 

 Sandy soil retains the least moisture, and 

 when exposed directly to high temperatures 

 it can not hold sufficient moisture save for 

 such meager vegetation as characterizes arid 

 districts. To the majority of people in 

 Florida today it perhaps appears impossible 

 that these great forests can be swept away. 

 In this connection it may be stated that at 

 the present rate of consumption there is not 

 enough timber in the United States to meet 

 our demands for 35 years. The consumption 

 is increasing yearly, and it is evident that 

 timber so accessible as that of Florida, with 

 its cheap means of transportation will soon 



be consumed. The pine will have disappeared 

 in a few years, and attention will then be 

 directed to the cypress, which is already of 

 great value. Unless the State can be im- 

 pressed at once with the necessity of abso- 

 lute protection and a conservative manage- 

 ment of its forests, it would seem that such 

 changes in the present conditions would en- 

 sue as to necessitate the practical abandon- 

 ment of the fruit industry and the introduc- 

 tion of other pursuits. It is not beyond the 

 range of possibilities that in the next gen- 

 eration the names of certain towns in Flor- 

 ida will be simply historical in character. 

 Among these may be mentioned Citronelle, 

 Limona, Mandarin, Orange, Orangedale, 

 Port Orange and Tangerine. The time may 

 come when the children will inquire why 

 the towns in and about which they live 

 were ever given such names, just as in the 

 Middle and Western States the Elk creeks, 

 Elk rivers, Buffalo creeks and Buffalo riv- 

 ers are to-day meaningless terms. 



LOST IN A GEORGIA SWAMP. 



One frosty morning in middle October, 

 just after a long drizzly rain, my father, 

 a friend and I went after squirrels in one 

 of the densest swamps in middle Geor- 

 gia. We were soon off in the roadcart for 

 the swamp, 5 or 6 miles away. We had 

 gone about a mile when both of the dogs 

 strayed away and got lost. We pushed on 

 into the swamp without them, thinking we 

 might be able to bag a few squirrels by 

 waiting for shots. I soon had 3 fox squir- 

 rels and was drawing a bead on a fourth 

 when I heard a rattling in the bushes 

 just behind me, and turning, around I saw 

 a big black bear beating a retreat out 

 through the canebrakes. 



I had never seen a wild bear before, and 

 my heart beat with joy as I pictured in 

 my mind's eye a bear skin robe on the 

 floor of my bedroom. What a pleasure 

 it would be to tell my friends how I killed 

 my first bear. With all this in my mind 

 I rushed after him, but any one who has 

 ever been in a real Georgia swamp knows 

 how hard a task I had. After a long chase 

 I sat down on the root of a tree, feeling 

 sore at heart, for I had lost my first chance 

 at a bear. That was not the worst 

 of it. There I was in the middle of a-, 

 lonely swamp with no one within a mile 

 of me, and I was lost. It was useless 

 to shout, for I could scarcely be heard a 

 hundred yards in that jungle. My first 

 thought was to climb a tree and see where 

 I was, but I soon gave up that idea, for it 

 would be impossible for any one to climb 

 those trees. The taller they were, the larger 



around, and the nearest limb was 50 feet 

 from the ground. 



I had often heard of rattlesnakes being 

 killed there, and with snakes and bears in 

 my mind I almost became frightened. 



I started out in the direction I thought 

 would bring me to the edge of the swamp. 

 The sun was behind the clouds, so I had 

 nothing to guide me except the trees. 



I was soon cheered by finding several 

 bear tracks going in the same direction, 

 which I thought would probably lead to 

 some watering place. Following the trail 

 I finally came to a creek flowing in the 

 direction whence I had come. I waded in 

 and started down stream, for I knew it 

 would soon take me somewhere. 



After wading 2 or 3 miles the creek 

 widened into a lake, and there, sitting on 

 its bank, were my father and our friend 

 waiting for me. 



We pushed on down the lake and soon 

 came to the path that led to the edge of 

 the swamp. 



We shot several squirrels on the way out, 

 and when we got home and counted our 

 game we found that together we had 31 ; 

 but I shall always regret not getting a shot 

 at the bear. 



J. S. Johnson, Jr., Macon, Ga. 



'; And you should always regret having 

 killed the squirrels. Don't forget that the 

 grey squirrel and the fox squirrel are grow- 

 ing scarce all over the country, and the 

 best sportsmen agree that the time has come 

 when we should all declare a perpetual 

 close season on them. — Editor. 



