174 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[March 24, 1887. 



Address ati communicattom to the Forest and Stream Pub. Go. 



UNOFFICIAL LOG OF THE STELLA.-IV. 



IF YOU ever happen to visit St. Augustine, in doing 

 the ancient city do not fail to put in an horn in the 

 curiosity shop of Doctor John Vedder, near the clubhouse 

 and wharf of the yacht club. I do not know if the Doctor 

 be a regular M.D?, but I know that he is a most enthusi- 

 astic naturalist, and his collection is a marvel of curi- 

 osities, gleaned mainly froui the animal kingdom, though 

 the botanist may find ' much that will interest and amuse 

 him. The scribe, being only an enthusiast on reptiles, 

 and caring little for any reptile even unless it were very 

 poisonous, turned his attention largely to snakes, of which 

 the collection had an ample stock, dead and alive. It was 

 here that he found a stuffed specimen of the diamond 

 rattler 8ft. long, which, being the longest he had ever seen, 

 and well preserved withal, interested him greatly. En 

 passant, he takes this opportunity .to say to the Florida 

 friends who have entertained him with stories of rattlers 

 13, 14, and even loft, in length, that he considers such 

 snakes unauthentic and nearly impossible, while the 

 snake-liar is a constant quantity, before whom the 

 stoutest trout-liar weakens. And he would further 

 remark that, while listening to their yarns with apparent 

 credulity, hp was mentally logging them as a set of 

 ophidian Munchausens whom it would be flattery to call 

 bars. 



Doctor Vedder, finding the scribe something of a 

 naturalist, was unwearied in showing and explaining his 

 treasures. He fed his menagerie, stirred up the rattlers, 

 provoked the moccasins, got a box of untamed wildcats 

 in a rage, fondled his pet otters, and explained the pecu- 

 liarities of a box of glass snakes, the first the scribe had 

 ever seen in a state of confinement. One of these had 

 met with a little accident, and was on the dry dock, so to 

 speak, repairing damages. He had broken himself in 

 two and was mending the break by bringing the broken 

 parts together and keeping quiet until the break was 

 healed. The accident had happened less than three days 

 before, and he was already able to crawl about his cage, 

 though the tail end of him was evidently a little sore and 

 stiff as yet, and his owner spoke of him as being on the 

 invahd list. This incident is mentioned more especially 

 for the benefit of people who have disputed the. writer 

 flatly as to the existence of a serpent which could be 

 easily broken in two by a light blow, and, if left to itself, 

 would contrive to unite the broken parts in two or three 

 days. I have known the common blacksnake when cut 

 in two with a sharp scythe, to do the same thing. 



There was a gool show of live aquatic birds, and the 

 Doctor fed them with fresh fish for the entertainment of 

 his visitors, and to show the difference in their manner of 

 feeding. The cormorants and several varieties of cranes, 

 as well as the ibises, gobbled their fish at once, though in 

 the case of the wanes, the fish looked three times as large 

 a 3 the bird's neck. The pelican pouched a large mullet 

 in an instant, and settled himself back open-mouthed 

 for another. But the sandhill crane refused fish; 

 and, when fed a piece of fresh beef, took it to a bucket 

 of water and rinsed it clean before eating it, which he 

 did leisurely, neatly, and like a gentleman. He was not 

 to be hurried, and when the others tried, as they did, to 

 snatch his dinner, they paid dearly for their temerity. 



I never have and never shall recognize this bird as 

 properly a crane or heron at all. To me he is king of the 

 cm-lew tribe, and always has been since my first acquaint- 

 ance with him, Majestic in flight, even beyond that 

 bullying robber the bald eagle, cleanly in his habits and 

 feeding, always preferring corn to fish and frogs, always 

 a high-land bird, excellent on the table— why call him a 

 crane, and relegate him to the ranks of the" frog-eating 

 waders on an arbitrary point of structural similarity? To 

 me he is king of the curlews. 



A notable feature of the Bay of St. Augustine, and one 

 that tended much to relieve the tedium of our stay there, 

 was the fleet of white-winged yachto, mostly owned by 

 the St. Augustine Yacht Club, which daily made the bay 

 lively with sailing matches, amateur practice, and 

 parties of winter tourists from the hotels sailing for 

 pleasure. Most of the yachts were catrigged, and of the 

 extreme skimming dish type to an extent that would 

 drive your yachting editor to the verge of insanity. If 

 they were death traps they were not successful ones, as I 

 could not learn that any man had ever been fatally 

 caught in one of them. Speedy they were, and they 

 stood up stiffly in a strong breeze. Also, their owners 

 claimed for them ability to "go outside." One thing is 

 certain they were excellently adapted to cruise in the 

 waters for which they were intended. A cutter is of no 

 use on the Florida coast, and any craft drawing more 

 than 30in. is virtually barred out here as regards inland 

 cruising. And that is just what's the matter with the 

 Stella. She had won our admiration as a sea boat, and 

 all admitted that her cabin accommodations were equal 

 to most yachts of three times her size. But when we 

 took an Indian River pilot at St. Augustine, who promised 

 to take us through Mosquito Inlet to the Lagoon, and all 

 over the Lagoon, through the Haulover to Indian River, 

 and anywhere on the river that we chose, we got badly 

 left. 



Joe, the pilot, did Ids best; he wanted a job; but the 

 Stella needs an honest oft. of water to float her, and Joe 

 found it impossible to get her over sand bars where there 

 was only 4ft. of water at high tide. But he could and did 

 buck at them manfully, whereby it has happened that 

 we have had an excellent chance to become familiar with 

 the topography of the country while being, in the par- 

 lance of this watery land, "hung up" on oyster bars, sand 

 bars and p'ints. This gives Joe an opportunity for ex- 

 planation. "The last time I was here we carried a 

 fathom o' -water over this bar. But the river is all the 

 time changin' so. The 'Coast Pilot' tells you so." Which 

 is true; but Joe forgets that it is his business to know it, 

 and also to know the channels and the depth of water in 

 them. So the Skipper decides to board the Clara and go 

 to Titusville on the Indian River prospecting. Now the 

 Clara is a neat passenger boat drawing only 32in. , and 

 has been brought here because of her light draft, to run 

 from Daytona, on the Halifax, to Titusville. The distance 

 is only forty-five miles, and as she is only required to go 

 down one day and back the next, she ought to make con- 



nections, but she doesn't. The Skipper is absent three 

 days and returns disgusted. He reports the Indian River 

 impossible for us. There is only 3ft. of water in the 

 Haulover, and the Clara has been "hung up" on shoals 

 for twenty-four hours. As she was only meant for a day 

 boat the passengers had to hang up also, as best they 

 could, on chairs, settees, tables, or on the cabin floor. 



And thus what with one delay after another the time 

 goes by like a dream, and the Skipper wakes up to the 

 fact that it is too late for rounding the Florida capes and 

 devoting amonth to the Ten Thousand Islands.Punta Rassa 

 and Charlotte Harbor. What, though? We came away 

 from the frigid North for an outing; to find summer 

 weather, orange groves, mocking birds and a fair amount 

 of fishing and shooting; and we have found each and all to 

 a satisfactory extent— except the shooting, which is very 

 poor. It is small comfort to be assured that up to the 

 "big freeze" of January, 1886, the shores were fairly alive 

 with beach birds. There are very few to be found this 

 winter; and the scattering flocks are wonderfully shy 

 and wary. And quail, which ought to be abundant, are 

 almost as scarce. There are plenty of fish, however; the 

 Skipper, who is an ardent angler, catches sheepshead, 

 sea bass, sailor's choice, etc., to his heart's content, while 

 the yacht has a pretty constant supply of oysters, clams 

 and crabs, all of good quality. Fruit, too, is plenty; 

 oranges for the asking, strawberries, fine and well flav- 

 ored, at twenty-five cents per quart, Japanese plums, 

 limes, etc. But of game we have not been able to keep 

 up a. supply. Even ducks, which in this wilderness of 

 waters and mangrove keys ought to be plenty, are sur- 

 prisingly scarce, and we have not had a taste of venison 

 or wild "turkey on the cruise; also, I regret to say, beef 

 and mutton are equally scarce, and poultry is not to bo 

 had at any price. There is some compensation in the 

 fact that eggs are abundant and fresh. 



As to losing our trip to the Ten Thousand islands, we 

 have come to care nothing for that. We have seen a 

 score of men who have been there, but no one who cares 

 to go there a second time. A naval officer, who once 

 headed an exploring expedition among these islands, gave 

 us substantially the following account of the region. Tak- 

 ing a late map of Florida he called our attention to the 

 everglades, where, in the lower parts of Dade and Mun- 

 roe counties, instead of the usual township lines appears 

 a blank, with an explanatory note which reads as follows: 



"This unsurveyed and but partly explored region is 

 nearly level and only a few feet above the sea. It con- 

 tains "a network of narrow water channels and shallow 

 lakes, with numerous sandy islets, covered with vegeta- 

 tion and capable of cultivation." 



"Now," said our informant, "the Ten Thousand Islands 

 are a muddy continuation of that same region, where the 

 tide overflows. It is really a desolate stretch of mud 

 flats and mangrove swamps, with scarcely an interesting 

 feature and very little game. About the only animal life 

 to be found there is comprised in the list of waders and 

 alligators, though we saw one manatee. We were obliged 

 to leave the ship's launch four or five miles from the 

 islands, while a party of three of us worked our way in 

 with a flat-bottomed skiff to reconnoitre. It was dreary 

 work, and three weeks of it convinced me that no survey 

 of the region could be made by any ordinary means, or 

 would be of any use whatever when made." 



As all the conchs, coasters, wreckers and tourists con- 

 firmed tin's view of the region, we rather lost all desire to 

 go there, and gradually fell into the easy, lazy, semi-tropi- 

 cal life of the native cracker. We still promised our- 

 selves a cruise to the capes and Key West, but the warm 

 days and clear, starlit nights came and went, we ate and 

 slept or fished and visited, we wrote some and read more, 

 but somehow we did not make a start, and the last days 

 of February found us loitering and loafing about the 

 waters of the Hillsboro and Halifax rivers, or among the 

 interminable channels and mangrove keys of Mosquito 

 Lagoon, Sprue* Creek and other puzzling places, where 

 the scribe found all the canoeing he wanted and where 

 he contrived to lose himself about every other day, until 

 he was constrained to admit that a reasonable canoeist 

 could find all the crooked channels and mangrove keys he 

 wanted without going so far as the Ten Thousand Islands. 



Nessmuk. 



WINTER NOTES. 



BY THE OLD MAN OF THE HILL. 



SO FAR from neighbors of the human kind, one is con- 

 strained to seek friendships of another sort till all in- 

 animate nature has a place in our affections, and the pass- 

 ing seasons, with even Winter himself and his frigid dis- 

 position, are welcomed like returning friends. His present 

 visit is a long one. He has shown us alL sides of Ms 

 character. 



We are early warned of his approach by that herald, 

 Jack Frost, who at once set out to maintain his reputa- 

 tion as a wanton sprite, a very Puck for mischief, by 

 bmsting the gude wife's water-bucket, perching on the 

 old man's ears, and riding to town in the gray of the 

 morning, and then slyly congealing a glassy surface in 

 the path of the unwary pedestrian to disconcert his flying 

 feet. These are only a few of the serious catalogue of 

 offenses, mostly under the head of Assault and Battery, 

 or Malicious Destruction of Property, but no Habeas 

 Corpus seems to apprehend him. 



There are those, however, who will say that we are 

 maligning the character of one of Nature s most earnest 

 and useful craftsmen. Suppose he did trail his robes 

 over our tomato patch on his way to the woods! We 

 knew he was about; we might have seen his footprints in 

 the low meadow several days before, and his autograph 

 on our bedroom window. 



Immediately upon arrival he commenced operations on 

 the landscape', and soon, by means of a wonderful assort- 

 ment of pigments, known only to his mysterious alchemy, 

 the woods were all a conflagration. His chief delight 

 was in a solitary stem at the foot of a rugged hill, till he 

 had brought out all his beauties against the dark back- 

 ground of rocks and pines. Every movement was a 

 phenomenon. Was there a brooklet in his path? A 

 magic breath, and little crystal spears and arrowlets were 

 darting out from underneath the bank to join forces for a 

 swaying, scintillating raft, and before morning the 

 meadow mice were out on the moonlit surface contem- 

 platins; the astronomy reflected in its depths. 



As the mood of Winter became harsher, the warmth of 

 earth shrank deeper and deeper, the surface grew rigid, 

 and footprints and other indentations were petrified. 



Then the aspect was dreary. All a waste of broken 

 stalks; the neglected corners bereft of then- charitable 

 cloaks of foliage; the " skeletons in all the closets" ex- 

 posed. The forests, too, are denuded, and the horizon 

 only a black network of twigs againsjt the sky; in short, 

 the landscape that yesterday was painted in colors, now is 

 only an etching. Then came the snow. At first in un- 

 certain, struggling companies, but soon in silant shoals, 

 moving straight to earth, until a frolicsome zephyr, dart- 

 ing among them, carried consternation in its wake, and 

 sent them once more whirling heavenward. By nightfall, 

 when landmarks had lost their identity, and outlines 

 were obliterated, the whirlwinds came down from the 

 mountain, each in pursuit of a flying avalanche of snow 

 to hurl against the cottage. They tried all the doors. 

 They rattled all the windows, and then drew back to 

 despoil the woods of their newly-acquired foliage, never 

 resting till all the remonstrating trees made obeisance at 

 their slightest dictation. A moment later they were 

 coursing toward us all blending in a weird, malevolent 

 crescendo threatening to uplift the old house bodily. 

 But it stood. 



When morning da wned, cold and glittering, they were 

 gone, but traces were visible in the smooth-swept courses 

 among tumultuous heaps, with here and there a towering 

 pinnacle with overhanging cornice and a thousand grace- 

 ful feats of architecture. " Jefferson Scrtbb. 



A NIGHT IN THE MOUNTAINS. 



"VI 7 ELL, Mr. Harry, this is about the hardest bit of 



T 1 walking I've had this many a year," said Will, as 

 he stood wiping the perspiration from his sunburnt face. 



" You're right, Will," I answered, " but we must go on 

 until we find a good place to camp for the night." 



" And Tin beginning to think we won't find any good 

 place. This trough seems to have no end." 



I was beginning to think the same thing myself. Will 

 and I were on Clear Creek. We had left Old Barney's 

 on Monday morning, crossed the Black Hills and Pine 

 Ridge, and struck Clear Creek near its headwaters. We 

 were now making our way down the creek, camping 

 where night might find us. We were alone in the wild- 

 erness, not a house nor a human habitation within 

 twenty mdes of us. It was Wednesday evening, and our 

 trout baskets being filled, we had quit fishing earlier than 

 usual, and were looking for a place to camp. When we 

 stopped fishing we were in a sort of canon or gorge, 

 between two mountains, that rose almost perpendicular 

 from the creek. 



Clear Creek was narrowed to one-half its usual width, 

 and cut its way between the mountains. Always a wild 

 stream, it here pitched and foamed and dashed among 

 the rocks, until it was lashed into a perfect mass of foam. 

 For nearly an hour we had been making our way down 

 this gorge, hoping to find a suitable place to camp, and as 

 yet had found none. 



"What do you think about it, Mr. Harry?" inquired 

 Will. "Why,' I think our chances for a good night's 

 sleep are not very promising, but we'll have to make that 

 big hemlock yonder," I said, pointing to a hemlock a few 

 hundred yards down the stream. It took us a half hour 

 more to reach it. The sun had disappeared behind the 

 mountains, and the gloom of twilight was settling down 

 as we neared the big tree. The roar of falls became 

 audible as we approached the hemlock, around which the 

 creek made a sharp ton and was hid from sight. Will 

 and I reached the tree side by side, and we both stopped 

 in wonder. Before us lay a large pond or little lake into 

 which Clear Creek pitched over a falls 10ft. high. It was 

 wholly unexpected and took us both by surprise. In the 

 middle of the pond was an island heavily covered with 

 timber. On all sides the pond was surrounded by high 

 mountains. On the -western side there was a deep gorge 

 between the mountains, and through this came the last 

 rays of the setting sun lighting up a narrow strip of 

 water across the pond to the island, but the full force of 

 the sunlight seemed to strike upon the island itself, light- 

 ing it up until the trees seemed foliaged with burnished 

 gold. A mist hung over and around the island, and the 

 sunlight sifting through it, gave it the appearance of a 

 golden halo surrounding the island. There was some- 

 thing strangely unnatural about the appearance of this 

 island. The whole scene seemed unreal. The dark 

 Bombre mountains on all sides and the dull gray waters 

 of the pond threw the island into such intense relief thai 

 it fairly dazzled the eyes with its brightness. Beautiful 

 as the scene was it yet seemed weird and unnatural. We 

 stood several minutes in silence viewing it. 



"Will," I said, "where are we anyway?" 



"I don't know," answered Will, with a very solemn 

 look on his face, "unless this is what is called ' Mulkas- 

 sett's Lake. I never -was up here before, but I have often 

 heard of this place. I think this is what they call the 

 Devil's Bowl.' 1 



"Well, Devil's Bowl or not, here's a good place to camp 

 and we'll stay here all night." 



"If you'd just as leave, I'd rather go on, Mr. Harrv," 

 said Will, "they tell ugly stories about this place, and I'd 

 rather not stay here all night." 



"What stories do they tell?'' I asked. 



"Why, the people in the mountains say strange things 

 are seen here at night, and they say that the island is 

 haunted. Oh! look at it now," ejaculated Will, pointing 

 to the island. 



It certainly did look strange. The island was now 

 dark as it had been before light. It stood out a blaok 

 mass against the background of gray mountains beyond, 

 but the strangest part of it was that over the island 

 floated what looked at first like immense filmy wings. 

 A moment's observation explained the singular appear- 

 ance. The sun had sunk behind the mountains suffi- 

 ciently to take its light off the island, but its rays still 

 struck the streaks of fog that hovered above the island, 

 and which had assumed a shape somewhat resembling 

 huge wings. 



"Well," I said, "that's nothing but fog. Don't mind 

 it, kindle your fire here and we'll risk the haunted island 

 and all the ghosts." 



An hour later we had finished supper and fixed our 

 beds of spruce branches. Lighting my pipe I sat down 

 with my back against the big hemlock. I was facing the 

 lake and the falls were a few feet in front of me. Will 

 was sitting near me pulling away vigorously at his short 

 pipe. The night was one of those sultry , oppressive nights 

 common in June, even in these high latitudes. The moon 

 was in the first quarter, and threw a pale, sickly light 



