Terms, Five Dollars a Year. 
Ten Cents a Copy. 
NEW YORK, THURSDAY, MAY 7 , 1874. 
( Volume 2, Number 13 
1 17 Chatham St. (CityHall Sqr.) 
For Forest and Stream. 
THE FO’KS’LE—A REVELATION. 
I N the dark and grimy galley 
Of a vessel from afar, 
Sits a pitiful imposter, 
Who is called a “Jolly Tar.” 
In his dress and speech and manner 
Re betrays a painful lack 
Of the stock characteristics 
Of the stage and novel “Jack.” 
For he doesn’t speak the jargon 
So familiar on the stage, 
And forbears to hitch his trowsers, 
With a reverence for age. 
His jacket isn’t tarry, 
But of dubious glossy hue, 
And his pantaloons are loudish, 
Not an unpretending blue. 
No poetic, trim tapaulin, 
But a cap of greasy prose, 
Hides his closeout locks, and covers 
Both his eyes and half his nose. 
And when I hail him “Shipmet!” 
He does not reply “Belay,” 
But he growls a salutation, 
In his surly, salty way. 
He spins no naval yarn, 
And he sings no naval song, 
And his language is sententious, 
And sulphurous and strong. 
He grumbles at the hardships 
Of a life upon the blue; 
He reviles the mate and captain 
And the boatswain and the crew. 
He has curses for the owners 
Of his thrice-accursed ships, 
With profanest recollections 
Of preceding cursed trips. 
He blasphemes about the “lobscouse” 
And the “plum duff” and the “prog,” 
And he mutters imprecations 
On the ’baccy and the grog. 
He is low and course and dirty, 
And is very, very far 
From my picturesque ideal 
Of the jolly Jack-a-Tar. 
And I think of Susan’s W T illiam, 
;But I know they called him “Bill”), 
And of Kidd and Vanderdecken, 
Who is navigating still. 
And I’ve doubts of solemn Bunsby, 
And of Cuttle sagely mild— 
And I say “a tar is tarnished” 
As a pitcher is defiled.” J. J. Roche. 
—The great Pedestrian Match between Mr. James Gordon 
Bennett, of the New York Herald, and Mr. Whipple, for 
$3,000 a side came off on Tuesday morning, April 5. The 
distance walked was from 58th street to Jerome Park Gate, 
nearly ten miles. Mr. Bennett won in 1 hour, 46 minutes 
and 55 seconds. This was more than average amateur 
time, considering it was walked on the publie highway. Ad¬ 
ditional credit is given to the pedestrians for quick time 
over an uneven road, but we regard this as a decided ad¬ 
vantage, judging from personal tests of our own. A level 
track is less desirable by far than an undulating one, as all 
can learn who wish to try tlie experiment. 
—Captain J. Ross of New l r ork, offers to wager $500 
against $800 that Wm. Brown, (Mullen’s late opponent), 
can beat the best time on record for walking at any of the 
following distances; 2, 4, 7, 10. 12, 25, or 50 miles. 
—Edward Mullen of Boston, wants to walk Wm. Brown, 
John Oddy, or any man in the United States, from one to 
ten miles, for $500 or $1,000 a side. 
—Cyrille Dion and Maurice Daly are to play a game of 
French caroms, 600 points up, on May 15, for $2,000. 
[FROM OUR OWN COMMISSIONER.] 
[The Forest and Stream Expedition, sent out by this office 
especially to explore Lake Okeechobee, is the only one that 
succeeded in reaching that body of water the past winter. 
All letters purporting to come from other sources are writ¬ 
ten by persons who were permitted by courtesy to accom¬ 
pany our commissioner. The only boat on Lake Okeecho¬ 
bee and the lower Kissimee, was built for our expedition at 
Beverly, Mass., and taken to Florida by sailing vessel.— 
Ed. F. & S.] 
I NDIAN RIVER in April is as beautiful, its skies as 
serene and its waters as untroubled as in January; but 
Indian River in April is not the river it was in January, for 
all that. Its visitors from the north, the Yankees, have 
departed—and its visitors from the south, the insects, have 
arrived. The temperature in April does not vary much 
from that of March; the mornings are deliciously cool, and 
the afternoons—well, they are warm. Sixty-five in the 
morning at sunrise; ninety at noon; a breeze from the south 
all day, and a gale from the west all night. 
When I had returned to St. Lucie from Okeechobee my 
friend at headquarters wanted to leave; and it was only to 
allow me a flying trip to the Seminole town that he would 
remain. The reasons he urged for departing were “insects.” 
Fleas and mosquitoes might have their uses, might be a 
blessing to mankind, but too many fleas and a superabund¬ 
ance of mosquitoes were worse than none at all; and so 
long as that grind-stone was left out of doors for them to 
sharpen their bills on, so long was life a burden to him. 
And so we sailed away from St. Lucie. A few miles from 
St. Lucie is Indian River Inlet, where the fishing is superb 
and the mosquitoes abundant. We went over to the inlet 
one day with my old guide Jim to assist us. The memory 
of that day’s sport will not soon fade away—bass, sheeps- 
liead, crevalle—all bit well, and fully sustained the reputa¬ 
tion accorded this inlet as the best fishing ground on the 
coast. Jim had been hunting in the scrub along the sand 
ridge, and returned to the boat as I hauled in my last fish, 
bloody and torn. There was blood on his face—blood on 
liis hands, hair and rifle. His shirt and joints were torn 
and likewise bloody. In reply to my questions he remark¬ 
ed in a careless way that he had run a-foul of a catamount, 
and that “the beast had showed fight.” When I 
requested him to bring along his catamount, lie said it was 
out there in the sand, and that if I wanted it I might get it. 
Though I had doubts of the existence of said catamount, I 
went as directed, and did actually find one, a beautiful 
creature, about four feet in length, curiously spotted and 
striped, and with tufted ears. Jim had discovered four of 
them, had wounded one and then captured him. It was 
just here that I was camped one night two years ago. Jim 
was with me and performed a feat that many men would 
shrink from. 
The captain of a little schooner had got his anchor caught 
beneath a sunken mangrove and was going to cut his cable 
and leave it when Jim volunteered to dive for and get it 
up. The water was alive with sharks—this place is noted 
for them—and the anchor was twenty feet under water, 
but Jim, after giving me instructions in case he was attack¬ 
ed, dove repeatedly, with the sharks swarming about our 
little boat, and a rapid current running, till he had accom¬ 
plished his purpose. Opposite the inlet, two miles, is the 
residence of Judge Paine, where board and lodging can be 
obtained, I presume, as the “Judge” has a snug little house 
with two rooms and beds. He also has a noble pack of 
hounds, which does duty at the gate. They are very affec¬ 
tionate, these hounds are, and one of them formed an 
almost inseparable attachment for the „calf of my leg one 
day as I went there for my maih 
The hunting here is not so good as the fishing, though 
deer may be obtained in the scrub and pine woods, and 
quail at the old Russell plantation. Fire hunting is the 
mode usually adopted for shooting deer and other animals. 
That is, fire hunting was the method. The principal charm 
of fire hunting lies in the uncertainty attending it, as to 
what you may kill. I presume the readers of Forest and 
Stream are familiar with the modus operandi of fire hunt¬ 
ing. A man goes out, horseback or a-foot, with a pole over 
his shoulder, lashed to the end of which is an old frying- 
pan, in which is a fire of light-wood. The blaze throws a 
lare of light ahead of him, leaving him in darkness. The 
eye of a deer reflects that light, so that all the bearer of the 
flrying-pan has to do is to “blaze away” at the eye. There 
is a deal of sport in this style of hunting. I remember a 
night’s experience at South Lake, where I followed my 
guide about all night looking for eyes. We didn’t see any 
eyes, but we had glorious sport. My part of it was to carry 
a bag of pine knots, and when my guide lowered the pan 
to replenish the fire with a knot. ’Twas fine sport, but 
grew to be a trifle monotonous toward morning. As I said 
before, in the uncertainty of fire hunting lies its chief at¬ 
traction. Other eyes than deer’s will reflect the light, and 
the bearer of the pan—the messenger of light we may call 
him—doesn’t know just what particular eye he may “shine” 
at any particular moment. It may be the eye of an ox, or 
a bear, or a panther. In case it is the latter, the usual way 
—if the “shiner” is convinced the sluinee is a panther—is to 
deposit the rifle and pan on the ground and climb a tree. 
Fire hunting, then, has its votaries all along the river. 
There is one gentleman near Fort Capron always success¬ 
ful. He never goes out without returning with some 
trophy of his skill. A few nights before I left he bagged a 
fine mare and colt, and was convinced that if he’d kept on 
he’d have killed a deer. 
The inlet is the place where “B. Hackle” and his friends 
—thorough sportsmen, all of them—had their finest sport, 
here and at Jupiter. The Narrows is as good a place for 
deer as any on the river. As I was sailing through them 
one moonlight night, I was awakened by my boatman, and 
looking up, discovered a deer swimming across close to the 
boat. Revolver, rifle, everything had been packed away, 
and we lost him. Right here in the narrows one of my 
acquaintances discovered a bear swimming and undertook 
his capture. As he had nothing but a hatchet, and a heavy 
breeze was blowipg, he was forced to relinquish the bear 
after laying its head open, and bruin had nearly upset the 
boat by getting his paws on the rail. 
At Elbow Creek, and across the river on the eastern shore 
is the finest picturesque portion of the river. The little bay, 
formed as the creek reaches Indian River, is almost shut In 
by high coquina rocks. The shores are sandy with high 
bluffs behind them. The water-worn coquina rock here is 
the most attractive on the river. It was here that the 
famous canal, to connect the St. John’s with Indian River, 
was to terminate. It was to be about seven miles in length. 
A company was formed, a dredge-boat set to work at Lake 
Washington, lands purchased, a town laid out on paper, 
and now the machinery of the boat is being transported to 
Sand Point for use in a saw-mill, and “Eau Gallie” has just 
as many inhabitants as it had before the bubble was blown. 
No doubt can exist as to the suitability of the locality for a 
town, could one be started; for the high pine land slopes 
gradually to the river, the climate isMelightful, and annoy¬ 
ing insects comparatively few. 
Mr. Houston, the resident at Elbow Creek, is an old 
Indian fighter, having served through the seven years of the 
first war. His reminiscenses were interesting, especially to 
me, as he had fought Indians I had met at the Seminole 
town and while hunting, and fought at localities I had re¬ 
cently visited. A wedge-shaped coquina rock terminates 
Merritt’s Island, two miles east of Elbow Creek. The 
rocky shores here are worn into innumerable caverns, their 
roofs supported by water-wrought i pillars|Jand groined 
arches. The island comes down to this point, ever narrow¬ 
ing,till it terminates a mile north of a palm-crowned point up¬ 
on the eastern shore. A deep bay is formed, crescent shaped, 
covered with dainty shells. Bordering this bay is a high 
shell buff, covered with wild orange trees. Back of this 
bluff is an ancient earth mound, from which leads an ele¬ 
vated road-way, sixty feet in width to the sea beach, a mile, 
away. 
