Jan. 26, 1888.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



3 



CAMPING ON THE EASTERN COAST. 



TT was past the middle of a hot afternoon; there was a 

 JL brisk sea breeze blowing, and the Scribe was lazily 

 smoking in the shade of a large, spreading live oak, taking 

 in the monotonous scenery in a listler.s dreamy way, and 

 incidentally watching the dull expanse of dead mangroves 

 to the southward, if perchance he might catch a glimpse 

 of white canvas. For on this particular day the Skipper 

 had promised to come in the gig, when the camping trip 

 was to end aud yachting life to be resumed. 



The week had passed quickly, pleasantly, and not with- 

 out sport, though game was by no means plenty. It 

 would keep one good hunter pretty busy to supply a camp 

 of four on Spruce Creek. But it is a pleasant stream to 

 camp on, and the fi-Jiing is very fair for channel bass, 

 sea trout, sheepshead and big-mouths. One soon comes 

 to care little for the two latter, the others being so much 

 better: and latterly the Scribe had only caught the big- 

 mouths for fun, giving them their liberty as soon as un- 

 hooked, unless, "indeed, there chanced to b3 a cracker 

 handy with his cast net, in which case big-mouthed bass 

 could be swapped for buck mullet on the most liberal 

 terms. There is no accounting for tastes. The big-mouth 

 is an insipid, tasteless fish. A buck mullet is equal to a 

 S^.aaish mackerel or a pompano. But a cracker is always 

 ready to trade mullet tor bass, probably because the latter 

 is more difficult to take and much scarcer. 



En passant: the buck mullet is a young, half -grown 

 male fish that is jealously driven off aud kept at a dis- 

 tance by the older and stronger males. Leading a life of 

 enforced continence and having little competition in the 

 food line, he becomes exceptioually fat and sleek, and, as 

 a pan fish, Iras few superiors. 



The high shell bank on which the oak stood commanded 

 a view of the river to the north, the bay looking west- 

 ward, and a long stretch of dead mangroves to the south, 

 with ocean and endless space beyond. 



And presently, far down among the dead brush, 

 appeared, the sharp peak of the dingy's white sail, dart- 

 ing to port, to starboard, and forging ahead, as though a 

 crazy man had hold of the tfller ropes; but she was only 

 following the tortuous channel, and soon she rounded a 

 distant point into the bay, and in a few minutes her keel 

 grated on the sand at the foot of the mound, and the 

 Skipper stepped ashore in full shooting rig. 



"Well, old man, getting about starved out? Beady for 

 civilized life again?" he asks. 



Ic is answered that the camp is in no danger of famine. 

 Bread, coffee, sugar, etc., may be a little short, but 

 bacon, fish, game, sweet potatoes and hominy, plenty. 



"Any beach birds or ducks around here?" 



"A few scattering ducks— no beach birds; but there 

 are squirrels and cottontails in the hammock, and quail 

 about the old fields." 



"No cottontails nor squirrels for me. Joe and I will 

 go up to Brown's grove for a bag o f oranges and a little 

 trolling. You'll be ready when we get back? because 

 the yupM ia 6 "i ils ui inovfc ^moi.ow.- 



And away goes the gig, leaving her mast and sail 

 ashore and giving Joe a chance to show his muscle at the 

 oarj. 



It was nearly sundown when the gig returned, with Joe 



Eulling wearily against the flood tide and the Skipper in 

 igh good humor. They had raided the orange grove 

 with marked success, and the trolling line had brought 

 half a dozen fine fish to hand, mostly channel bass. The 

 Scribe was ready for a start, had been ready and waiting 

 until he was tired of it, and the gig headed homeward 

 under a stiff ash breeze, with the canoe hanging close 

 under her counter to catch the benefit of her wake, 

 which rather made it fair weather for the double blade. 



It was pitch dark when the anchor light of the yacht 

 was made out, and there was a deal of running aground 

 on the flats before finally getting on board with every- 

 thing "shipshape and Bristol fashion," the gig swinging 

 to her painter and the canoe snugly nested inside the 

 yawl on deck. 



Next morning the yacht steamed up the inlet and 

 dropped her anchor opposite the hotel at New Smyrna, 

 and then followed two or three weeks of yachting life. 

 Going to Detwiler's Landing for a few days, then to 

 Ponce Park, from there up the Halifax to Daytonia, get- 

 ting hung up on some sand bats, which the pilot always 

 averred had "made" since the last time he was there, 

 doing some fishing and shooting, visiting places of note, 

 reading, writing, and notably loafing, killing time and 

 mosquitoes, after the usual manner of yachtsmen who go 

 to the Florida coast for the delectation* of their souls and 

 the depletion of their purses. 



But the spirit of the Scribe was weary of mangrove 

 desolations, and his heart turned longingly to green 

 woods, open camps, and blight camp-fires. And thence 

 it happened that, when the Stella was anchored at Ponce 

 Park with promise of a few days' rest, the canoe was once 

 more packed with a week's outfit and headed for the old 

 camp on Spruce Creek. ■ 



The cruise began auspiciously. The morning was warm 

 and bright, wind and tide were favorable, and supplies 

 more ample than on the last trip. No mistakes were 

 made in threading the tortuous channels, and in an hour 

 the canoe was resting in the shade of the big live oak. 

 The frame of the camp was standing intact, for the natives 

 here do not burn your camp as soon as you leave it, which , 

 I am ashamed to say, they mostly do on the upper Susque- 

 hanna. Two hours of indolent work made the camp 

 snug, dry, and comfortable, and then came thoughts of 

 dinner; but a camp dinner without fish or game is hardly 

 in order, and it was not yet noon. 



So the Scribe lilted the 12-bore Lefevre and sauntered 

 off into the hammock. Aud just then a large, well-fed 

 squirrel took it into his fool head to set up a drowsy, mid- 

 day barking, whereby he was singing to his own destruc- 

 tion; for the Scribe sneak-hunted to within 30yds. of his 

 perch and brought him down with a dull thud on the soft 

 ground. In less than ten minutes he was parboiling over 

 the camp-fire. Then the boding water was utilized in 

 cooking an Irish potato, while the squirrel was nicely 

 browning in the frying pan. These with a cup of strong 

 coffee formed the dinner. Not an epicurean layout for a 

 well-fed pampered stomach; but the Scribe found it de- 

 licious. Perhaps hunger had something to do with it. 



And what's the good of the best cooked dinner without 

 an appetite? 



There is no lack of means and ways to pass an afternoon 

 pleasantly. One may cruise around the bay, lauding at 

 points of 'interest, wrth a fair chance for duck and quail, 

 or visit the two cracker settlers across the bay, who have 

 extended a cordial invitation to the Scribe. And there is 

 a darky settlement within two miles of camp that is 

 widely and favorably known as a specimen of darky 

 thrift and industry: a reputation that rests mainly on the 

 doings of two colored people, known respectively as Gre- 

 gory and Sally. Gregory is most decidedly a colored 

 man, a very dark one. Sally is a bright quadroon, mus- 

 cular, well made and very intelligent. Each of them has 

 a "40," pre-empted soon after the war, and each has an 

 orange grove and a good truck patch, for this region. 

 Gregory is a family man, Sally is single, and both raise 

 strawberries for market, which find ready sale at twenty- 

 five cents ppr quart, also egg plants, cabbages, snap 

 beans, tomatoes and (without marked success) Irish 

 potatoes. This much the Scribe had found out on the 

 previous trip, and, being an enthusiastic grower of straw- 

 berries himself, and having a curiosity to see how the 

 king of berries succeeded in eastern Florida, he took his 

 gun and headed for the settlement, via the dry ham- 

 mock and pine barrens. There ought to have been some 

 quail or squirrel shooting on the route, but the only living 

 thing seen was a spotted woodpecker, and the Scribe 

 reached the settlement guiltless of slaughter. Gregory 

 was at work picking strawberries and hurrying to get off 

 for New Smyrna ou the ebb tide. It struck the Scribe at 

 a glance that the strawberry was only a partial success 

 in eastern Florida. The hills had no more than two to 

 four crowns to a stool, and the picker had to go over 

 about 1,000 hills for twenty quarts of berries; but the ber- 

 ries were fine, and yielded a daily supply for a long sea- 

 son. The hills do not last, but must be renewed every 

 season; and it is surprising to a Northern culturist that 

 the plants give out so lew runners for renewal. In north- 

 ern Florida, in Georgia and in South Carolina the straw- 

 berry succeeds finely, though it does not make the large 

 productive stools seen at the North. 



Gregory took time to walk over to his neighbor and 

 introduce the Scribe with, "Sally, here's a Nordern gen'l'- 

 man come to see you 'bout yo'r truck patch." Sally was 

 genial and talkative. "I'se alius glad to see Nordeners," 

 she said. "Deys de bes' fren's I eber had. T'was a 

 Nordern woman put me outer disclaim an' got my papers 

 made oi.t all right, so'l no poo' thievin' trash coidd eber 

 move mo off, I was wid her fo' years when she was a 

 gal, and she gib me de money to start on my place. I 

 cla'red de lan' an' raised all de trees wid my own two 

 nan's. Kin I chop? Lord bless you! I kin make wages 

 cuttin' steamboat wood. Ask de people roun' here." 



The Scribe suggested that the only thing she seemed to 

 lack was a good husband. 



"No husban' fo' me," she exclaimed with energy. 

 "Dar can't no fool niggah come roun' me, eatin' me outer 

 house an' home; I km take keer ob myself. See dat? ' 

 And she bared a handsome brown arm that would have 

 done honor to a pugilist. The Scribe admitted that she 

 could take care of herself. She had sold 20,000 oranges at 

 $10 per 1,000, and had many left. Her strawberries had 

 done well, her garden truck had found ready sale, and on 

 the whole she seemed to be getting along very finely with- 

 out a "fool niggah" for a husband. In the sixteen years she 

 had been living on her claim she had not been sick a day, 

 she had a very comfortable cottage, for the climate, and 

 her surroundings and belongings quite threw, the average 

 white cracker in the shade. 



Just before sundown the Scribe started for camp, keep- 

 ing a sharp eye on the chances for game; but there was 

 nothing stirring worth a cartridge, and he was fain to 

 make a supper on bread, butter and bacon. Late in the 

 evening Gregory came back on the flood tide and stopped 

 at the camp. He had sold his berries at Ponce Park, 

 thereby saving a pull to New Smyrna, which is four miles 

 up the inlet. Also, he brought news that the yacht was 

 going to move up to the fish factory, and to start thence 

 for home the following Monday. "Tell him to paddle 

 down on Saturday," the Skipper had said. This left only 

 four days for cruising, fishing and shooting, and it was to 

 be the last chance on the coast. We are going North a 

 month too soon, murmured the Scribe; but there is time 

 to take in the surrounding country, a good many fish, 

 and to explore Spruce Creek as far up as there is good 

 canoeing. Also one might investigate that local mystery, 

 "the Stone House." 



On reflection it was decided to spend a clay in cruising 

 up stream as far as might be in one forenoon, returning 

 in time to make camp before dark. The next day was 

 one to be marked with the biggest kind of a white pebble. 

 The weather was like a Northern June day, the tide was 

 running up strongly, end the sun was just glinting 

 through the tret tops as the little canoe left the landing 

 with a complete outfit for the day's cruise — knapsack, 

 gun, trolling line, camp axe, coffee pot, frying pan, and a 

 day's rations; for there are no carries on the route and 

 one may take along all necessary conveniences. And 

 here is the log for the day, written on the spot (i. e., in 

 camp). 



March 8, 1S87.— Paddled out at sunrise for a trip up 

 Spruce Creek. Weather glorious. Cardinals, mocking- 

 birds, etc., making the woods musical. Put out trolling 



! line with a gaudy feathered spoon, and caught a fine red- 

 fish just above the bridge, also a sea trout a mile further 



! up, and a big-mouth bass opposite Mt. Altitude. Did not 

 need them, so put them all back and tock in the trolling 



; line. Above the upper bridge the country is lovely to a 

 degree, and I notice that alligators are very plenty and 

 tame. They do not average as large as on the Gulf 

 Coast, the largest being not more than 8ft. in length, and 

 they are more slender and brighter colored, probably be- 



| cause of being in clear running water. I have no use for 



1 them aud do not shoot, though occasionally a sleepy 

 fellow dozes until the canoe is within 10ft. of him, a d I 



| could shatter his head with the greatest ease. They are 

 seldom shot ctt here, which accounts for their tameness. 

 Three miles above camp there is a sawmill on the leit 

 bank which seems to be doin? lively work, and a quarter 

 of a mile above is the upper bridge, beyond which there 

 is little sign of civilization save an occasional log landing, 

 and at one point a sort of timber yard, where a muscular 

 and rather intelligent darky was at work squaring 

 timber. He was not averse to conversation, and gave 

 some points about the country above. "It's mos'ly woods, 

 an' clere's right smart o' turkeys an' squirrels in de ham- 



mocks up de creek," he said. "Dere's lots ob partridge 

 roun' de ole fields, an' you kin catch all de trout you 

 want." (Partridge meant quad, and trout big-mouth 

 bass.) 



An hour's steady paddling brought the canoe to a point 

 where the stream was narrower and swifter, with hit>h 

 wooded banks, and just where a cool spring Avas bubbling 

 out of the sandy soil. This is so unusual in southern 

 Florida that the canoe was run ashore and the crev 

 sought the shade of a live oak, for it was getting hot. 

 and paddling against a stiff current is warm work, also 

 a clear cool spring is not to be passed lightly by m this 

 region. 



Aud while sitting in the shade, partially hidden by t v e 

 rushes and saw grass along the water's edge, it happened 

 that a little flock of beautiful ducks came swiftly around 

 the point above, heading down stream. The gun was 

 lying in easy reach, as it usually is when I go ashore, and 

 as they were passing my stand within 80yds. I covered 

 the rear of the flock and sent a charge of No, 5 crashing 

 through their feathers. Three of them spread out loose 

 on the water and the rest went off down stream on wins 1- 

 ing wings. The three were young ducks and very tender. 

 I only skin and cut off the breasts, which is all- of them 

 that I can use before they would spoil, and as it is already 

 past ll o'clock, and as no pleasanter place is likely to 

 turn up, start a bright fire and put the breast of one duck 

 over the fix e to parboil. When a hardwood sliver will 

 pierce the meat easily it is taken from the water, rolled 

 in meal and fried in bacon fat. It proves exceedingly 

 juicy and toothsome, and I wonder what variety of duck 

 it is, for it is new to me, but quite equal to a butterball 

 or canvasback. Perhaps it was owing to exercise and 

 hunger, but I have seldom enjoyed a dinner so well as 

 that solitary dinner far up Spruce Creek . 



Somehow the hearty dinner and the heat render me 

 quite indisposed for paddling further up the stream, but 

 it is likely to be the last time I shall ever have the chance, 

 so I reluctantly pick up tiie paddle and face the current. 

 An bom* of it is enough. The stream narrows, and 

 becomes more crooked and is much swifter, let alone that 

 there is a deal of dead timber in the channel, and a rank 

 growth of yellow lilies and other aquatic plants which 

 tend to make heavy paddling. The country seems more 

 gamy, however. In the first half hour I frightened a 

 deer and a couple of turtceys from the banks, while squir- 

 rels are frequently hear! on both sides of the river. The 

 spring where I halted for dinner, with the live oaks and 

 high dry banks, would make a fine site for a camp; and, 

 though it is an old settled country, a good hunter and 

 fisherman could keep a camp of four men in fish and 

 game. 



At 3 P. M. started for camp and went swiftly down 

 stream with an ebb tide and strong current in my lavor. 

 Reached camp before dark and got in night wood, shook 

 up the bedding and had a moat enjoyable lay off and 

 smoke. 



Gregory came to camp in the evening; he had been to 

 New Smyrna with berries and garden truck, and had a 

 bard pull coming against the tide for some six miles. He 

 suggests a quail hunt for to-morrow, and has a deal to . 

 say about the way his red setter dog wfll tree quail. 

 Treeing quail may seem a strange notion to a Northern 

 sportsman, but I had learned while on the Gulf Coast that 

 the Florida quail tree readily before a lively dog; and so, 

 waiving the question as to pot-shooting versus legitimate 

 sport, I agree to put in an appearance early on the follow- 

 ing morning for a day among the quad — with a setter 

 dog that trees them. 



March 9.— By a little after sunrise I am at Gregory's 

 place, and find him just hitching a big gray mule to a 

 little dump of a cracker cait. The dog is tied behind 

 with a clumsy rope, and he is really a fine-looking animal, 

 to all outward appearance ' a thoroughbred Irish setter. 

 In point of fact, however, his dam was and is a genuine 

 "coon dog"— sharp on the hunt for anything, from a 

 gopher to a bear, but with a strong darky leaning to 

 'possums. His sire belonged to a noted pill maker in a 

 Northern city, who has increased his own corporation and 

 cash account wonderfully by pinching the bellies and 

 bank accounts of his credulous fellow citizens. Gregory, 

 who has a sense of the humorous, calls his clog Pills. 

 When all is ready we tumble into the rough cart, Gregory 

 takes the lines (represented by a jib halliard leading to 

 the mule's nose) and we are off. For the first rnila the 

 rude wheels wabble noiselessly over or through a soft 

 sandy road, and then we turn off into the scrub and go 

 jolting and crashing through saw palmettos and stiff, 

 spiny pin oaks. It is execrable, and I am on the point 

 of proposing to ge f out and walk, when the mule makes 

 a buck leap in the air and commences tearing through 

 the scrub in a most decided attempt to run away. At 

 the same time I catch a glimpse of two large animals 

 scramb.ing rapidly along on their bellies, apparenly from 

 almost under the mule's nose. 



I remarked energetically, "pigs!" and would proceed 

 to make further remarks of more energy than elegance, 

 but just then the wheels jump a palmetto root and I turn 

 a somersault over the tail-board , landing helplessly on 

 the back of poor PiUs, who yells dis nally and springs 

 about wildly in a vain attempt to break his own neck. I 

 am not hurt, and, gun in hand, get quickly on my feet, 

 in time to see two fine bucks rise to their "feet, and with 

 heads thrown grandly back, stretch away for the 

 nearest hammock. There is a moment of frantic en- 

 deavor to change a No. 7 cartridge for one with buck- 

 shot; but the deer go like arrows, and by the time the 

 gun is ready they are 100yds. away. To shoot would be 

 to miss, or what is worse, inflict a painful and useless 

 wound on a noble game animal; so let them go. And go 

 they do. in the lordly, magnificent way one always sees 

 in pictures, but seldom in actual life. For it is a fact that 

 a buck usually runs with his head held low like a cow, 

 and in a maimer more speedy than graceful. Only when 

 racing for his life in the open, with all caution thrown 

 aside, does he elevate his neck, lay back his antlers, and 

 clear 80ft. at a bound. 



The day's hunt is spoiled for me. I have been within 

 10yds. of two fine bucks in the open scrub, and let them 

 both get away! In reporting the incidents of the trip to 

 the Skipper when I get back to the yacht 1 think I will 

 omit this affair of the two deer. The Skipper is apt to 

 make sarcastic remarks and doesn't take kindly to ex- 

 plorations. When Gregory has succeeded in quieting 

 the mule by pulling his head around on his shoulder with 

 the jib halliard, I get on board and wo go bumping over 

 the palmetto root for a mile, which brings us to the edge 



