342 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Not. 22, 1888. 



NOTES ON WESTERN FLORIDA. 



LEI,— CRUISING DOWN THE COAST. 



ONE spring Rusticus and I chartered the little 40ft. 

 schooner Geline Coleman and cruised down the 

 Gulf coast of Florida eastward from Apalachicola; we 

 had ample time and no object in view save sport; so we 

 ■ailed when the wind blew, and anchored when it did not, 

 and lazily idled along, stopping at any point that caught 

 our fancy and remaining in a place only so long as the in- 

 terest or novelty lasted. This is the true secret of pleas- 

 ant sailing, you must have plenty of time, no object save 

 ■port, and no point to reach within any given time. Out- 

 line for yourself no special course or trip, for once you 

 •online yourself to any regular plan, or "have a certain 

 date in which to reach some point, then you destroy the 

 eharm of perfect yachting. You are worried if the wind 

 is unfavorable, you swear at calms that delay progress, 

 and in fact fret and fume and generally end by condemn- 

 ing sailing as a most tedious and monotonous pastime, 

 dependent upon the variable moods of sea and air, and 

 mot to be relied upon at all as a means of locomotion. 



Start out, however, as I have recommended, willing to 

 be the sport of the elements so long as they share their 

 ■port with you; if the wind don't go your way. then you 

 go the wind's way (a case of Mahomet and the mountain), 

 and if that most common occurrence, a calm, strike you, 

 take it easily and sleep or read it off as you would a head- 

 ache—do all this and go under these circumstances and 

 you will enjoy sailing. Let stocks and bonds go for the 

 present, wish for no quotations, care not whether France 

 and Germany, England and Eussia act like Kilkenny 

 eats, and devote yourself to no higher science than the 

 putting of bait on a fish hook in the most approved man- 

 ner, or the calculating of a distance for a rifle shot— in 

 •ther words, be utterly lazy. 



Rusticus and 1 both fulfilled these conditions, and we 

 •n joyed ourselves accordingly. 



The roll of the officers of the Geline began and ended 

 wiyi Captain Joe, an American sailor of some ten years' 

 experience, while the crew was represented in the person 

 of Santo, an Italian who spoke very little English, and 

 when he did struggle with our piratical tongue, his mis- 

 takes and accent were very amusing, a mixture known 

 as pigeon-English being the result. 



We started on our expedition well prepared with the 

 good things of this life: the cabin was literally filled 

 with boxes of canned goods of all descriptions, Several 

 dozen bottles of ale, a most grateful luxury at sea, and a 

 liberal supply of loaf bread and crackers to last as long 

 as possible and save us the eating of bread of our own 

 make. I believe in being as comfortable as I can upon 

 a shooting or fishing trip. The man who starts out 

 with the idea that in order to be a successful woodsman 

 he must eat nothing but bacon and cornbread and make 

 himself generally uncomfortable, has a most mistaken 

 idea, and does not enjoy himself in his self-imposed 

 penance. Hardships will come in ample numbers of their 

 own accord and without forcing them. 



"We hoisted all sail one morning about 10 o'clock, and 

 catching the full force of a strong breeze on our quarter, 

 bowled merrily out of the river. The channel is ex- 

 tremely shallow and tortuous, and it requires great care 

 to avoid grounding on the sandbars that everywhere 

 rear their heads to within a foot or so of the surface. 

 These flats, however, are generally well marked by the 

 immense numbers of dead trees, which have stranded on 

 them from the mouth of the river, and whose naked 

 branches reaching upward form guide marks to the 

 navigator. Once outside this network of bars, we entered 

 the open waters of the Gulf and fairly bounded along, 

 the Geline proving herself all that her lines had promised 

 for speed and seaworthiness. 



Seven miles off the mouth of the river lies a long, nar- 

 row sand bar, St. George Island. It stretches some thirty 

 miles down the coast and protects the mainland from the 

 force of the gales of the Gulf, forming a sound in which 

 very rough weather is impossible. Toward this island 

 our prow was headed. The day was simply perfect, sky 

 and sea being in that sympathetic accord where one re- 

 flects the beauty and serenity of the other, while the 

 wind was just strong enough to raise the waves to the 

 height that is the joy of sailors and terror of landsmen. 

 Now, Rusticus is not a sailor, and I had noticed him 

 growing paler and paler as the swell increased in ratio to 

 our distanoe from land, and soon my comrade was in the 

 agonies of sea sickness. Of course he got no sympathy 

 from either the sailors or niyself. People who are kind- 

 hearted enough in everything else are absolutely brutal 

 m their mocking of this, indeed, terrible malady— pro- 

 vided, always, that they are themselves free from its 

 effects. There is an indescribable feeling of superiority 

 as you watch your dearest friend writhing before you, 

 and a sort of I've-been-there-myself look, as you heart- 

 lessly suggest such remedies as the piece of salt pork and 

 an attached string. Poor Rusticus suffered awfully; but 

 we told him that sea sickness never proved fatal, and then 

 left him to his fate; probably he felt as Mark Twain 

 describes his own sensation: one minute afraid that he 

 was going to die, the next that he was not. 



We spent three days along the coast of St. George 

 Island, hunting over and exploring that desolate waste 

 pretty thoroughly. It is, indeed, a wild spot, a sand 

 waste covered with a thick: growth of pines and palmet- 

 tos and with swamps and thickets almost impenetrable 

 It seems strange that a barren sandbar, evidently formed 

 by the sea, should produce the luxuriant vegetation that 

 hero exists; the soil is nothing but loose, shifting sand 

 across winch, from evidence that I saw of drift, the sea 

 m exceptionally high storms must sweep. The widest 

 part of the island is not over two miles, while in places 

 sea and sound approach to within a few hundred vards 

 ot each other. In the interior are many lakes and la- 

 goons, each surrounded by a swamp. 



We had very goodspoit, tramping over this desolate 

 island m the pursuit of game. Snipe and plover were 

 very abundant, I never have seen anything like the 

 numbers that we stirred up on every beach. Rusticus 

 and I averaged some fifty birds apiece per drive, and 

 mercy alone, not lack of birds, kept us from tripling that 

 ■^? Te j P mae } and herons were very numerous and 

 afforded good sport, but they are very wary and difficult 

 ot approach, and one has to be "up" in the business to 

 ■ucoessfully stalk a crane perched on the topmost branch 



of some dead pine, for if they are all neck and legs so 

 also are they all caution and watchfulness; the still- 

 Imnting of a deer is mere child's play compared to the 

 labor and caution necessary to circumvent one of these 

 waders. One afternoon after a long hot tramp, and 

 several unsuccessful attempts to bring one of these birds 

 to bag, I spied a magnificent specimen of the great blue 

 heron perched high upon a tree some 300yds. away. I 

 stepped behind the nearest bush and began to use all of 

 the wood lore that I possessed in the silent advance upon 

 that guileless bird. When I was about 150yds. away 

 from him, out went the long neck and my prospective 

 quarry began to search the brush under him in the very 

 direction where I was crouched. I saw he would be off 

 in an instant, so leveling my rifle in despair, I fired. 

 Down he came with a hoarse quorik, like a streak of 

 blue flame, while I hurried forward to take as trophies 

 the much prized plumes. But not so fast. My bullet 

 had shattered one of his wings, leaving him otherwise 

 uninjured, and he stood facing me as I came up, with 

 fierce eyes and ready poised chisel-like beak, in an atti- 

 tude of defiance that aid not extend a very cordial invi- 

 tation for a nearer acquaintance. Not one step did he 

 retreat — not he! disdaining to use those long legs of his 

 for so ignoble a purpose — a gallant bird, indeed. Well, 

 I put an end to him, and took my plumes; beauties they 

 were too, but just a little ragged, for it was rather late in 

 the season for the gathering of perfect feathers. 



Wild creatures are generally brave. When we contrast 

 the size of a bluejay or a mockingbird with that of a 

 man, and see how fiercely they defend nest and young 

 against the approaching human, a feeling of admiration 

 for a bravery so great must possess us, I remember, one 

 afternoon, on this island, as I was returning about sunset 

 to the little bay that sheltered the Geline, a magnificent 

 bald eagle flew over me, and by a lucky shot I dropped 

 him down from his lofty flight. Tumbling, like Phaiton, 

 to the world below, he was wounded unto death, but his 

 fierce, defiant eyes showed no fear, but boldly met mine, 

 and he gazed at the red sinking sun as, it is said, only 

 kings and eagles can. I felt sorry that I had killed, by 

 the advantage of my rifle, so noble a bird, and cut short that 

 bold free life, spent high in the heavens over the expanse 

 of sea, a life perhaps nobler than that of man. But we 

 all of us have that blood-lust that hates to see any other 

 animal in the full possession of life and liberty, and we 

 slay and slay, by means devised by our superior intellect, 

 many animals that we would not dare to face upon an 

 equal footing. The honest lion is, after all, much braver 

 than man, seeking prey or enemy with no other than his 

 own sturdy powers, and not, in perfect safety to himself, 

 cruelly killing countless harmless creatures for mere 

 sport. However, I moralize, and bore you. People now- 

 adays don't like to think. Perhaps it is too humiliating. 



Though deer tracks were very abundant, having no 

 dogs, we did not attempt to hunt the deer in the almost 

 impenetrable thickets of the interior. 



We shot several alligators in the ponds, but soon tired 

 of slaughtering the great lazy beasts that scarcely would 

 crawl out of our way, but lay inert and motionless with 

 stony stare and open mouth, while the message of death 

 was sent crashing through their stupid brains. I do not 

 know what the opinion of naturalists is on the subject, but 

 I think that the organs of sight of the alligator must be 

 very imperfectly developed. I have walked deliberately 

 to within 20yds." of one of these saurians that seemed not 

 to see me, though his eyes were fixed in a dull stare in 

 my direction. 



The days passed very pleasantly. We tramped and 

 hunted all day and would return to the Geline by dark, 

 thoroughly tired out. One must know what it is to be 

 exhausted in order to appreciate the joys of rest and a 

 supper of snipe, canned goods and bacon. And what 

 yarns were told and songs sung as we lounged about the 

 deck in the refreshing breeze, with naught overhead but 

 the eternal heavens, the little vessel rising and falling to 

 the gentle swell and sobbing and sighing with the winds 

 or laughing with the rippling waves that played against 

 her sides. 



One night Santo, in answer to a call for a song, started 

 off — not with some rollicking sea ditty such as "Shiver 

 my Timbers," "Douse my Toplights," or Italian words of 

 like effect, but with the Miserere from "Trovatore." To 

 hear such a song, sung in a really good tenor voice from 

 the lips of a common sailor was somewhat startling, but 

 he had not forgotten his early life in Italy, that land of 

 music, where highest and lowliest alike share the taste 

 for opera and have opportunities for the gratification of 

 that taste. ' 'Hernani," "Traviata" and others followed as 

 the musician became warmed with his theme, and all were 

 rendered in so excellent a style, that we could almost im- 

 agine ourselves in some grand opera house listening to a 

 painted tenor singing under painted trees. 



The sea, highly phosphorescent, presented at night a 

 truly grand spectacle; we seemed floating on a mass of 

 molten metal, that seethed and boiled as far as eye could 

 see in one blazing surface of weird, ghostly fire, flaming 

 yet giving no light. Occasionally flying fish would leap 

 out of the water and meteor-like leave for an instant a 

 trail of fire in their wake. 



Never shall I forget the experience of our first night. 

 The vessel was anchored about a quarter of a mile from 

 shore, Captain Joe supposing that at that distance we 

 should be safe from the attack of mosquitoes. As a good 

 breeze was blowing, all went well during the early 

 hours, but about 11 o'oclock the wind died down, and all 

 hands were awakened by the attacks of myriads of these 

 ^'avengers of the Gulf." The air was literally one heav- 

 ing mass of humming, buzzing, biting mosquitoes, not 

 the ordinary seaside variety that a net will stop, but great 

 mailed monsters that would pierce a bar as a bullet 

 would a pie. Our cheese-cloth nets were of no avail, and 

 we spent the remainder of the night in one steady strug- 

 gle, slapping our faces into veritable jellies in vicious 

 hits at the tormentors. A steady murmur arose from 

 that deck like miasma from a swamp, not the murmur of 

 prayer, somehow no one seemed to think of praying, and 

 at last Santo said something that sounded amazingly like 

 caramba, and I did think that I heard Rusticus mention 

 the name of some lady, "Helen Blazes." Captain Joe 

 simply swore, being quite expert at that useful art, and 

 I, knowing that I could not do the subject justice, hired 

 him to aid me in expressing my sentiments. [Mem. lie 

 did.] Ever after we anchored at least a mile from shore 

 and were troubled no more in our repose. 



The early morning was generally very still, the breeze 

 seldom springing up until about 10 o'clook. A calm at 



sea in hot weather is the deadest picture of life and na- 

 ture that it is possible to imagine. No breath of wind 

 stirs the oily water into the slightest ripple; no flying 

 bird nor leaping fish disturbs the absolute quiet that broods 

 over all. The sunlight, flashing in the stagnant waters, 

 reflects two-fold its own light and heat, and your little 

 vessel lies lifelessly upon the dead flood, her white sails 

 hanging limply like the drapery of a marble Venus. A 

 wonderful peace and quiet rests over all, broken only by 

 the creaking of the spars that feel the almost impercepti- 

 ble motion of the swell, or the gentle rippling of the 

 miniature surf as it falls upon the beach. The lines, "A 

 painted ship upon a painted ocean," though long hack- 

 neyed, yet express with singular exactness a calm at sea, 

 and we may search the range of literature and find no 

 better simile. 



One very hot morning I rashly plunged overboard to 

 enjoy a swim. Scarcely had I struck the water, however, 

 when the fin of a shark appeared some bundled yards 

 away. My time back to the boat would certainly have 

 exceeded in point of speed any professional record in the 

 swimming line, and I clambered back on deck, resolved 

 in future to confine my ablutions to a bucket. . These sea 

 wolves are very numerous all along this coast, making 

 bathing very dangerous save in shallow water. 



During the morning of our third day in the vicinity of 

 the island clouds began to gather and a strong wind 

 sprang up 'that rapidly freshened into a gale. We had 

 decided to run for Carabelle, a little settlement on the 

 mainland some fifteen miles away; and not liking to have 

 our plans broken into, we closely reefed fore and main- 

 sail, hoisted the flying jib, and started out before the 

 wind. Once out of the shelter of the protecting island 

 the full force of the open sea was felt, which lashed by 

 the southwest gale was very rough, and our situation 

 was a little squally. The Geline, however, behaved splen- 

 didly, stoutly opposing her strong sides to the great roll- 

 ers and plowing through the curling seas, dashed the 

 white foam right and left; exulting as a thing of life in 

 this war of wind and sea. 



There is no grander sight than a storm on the ocean 

 nor one that offers so great a contrast to the laughing- 

 blue waters in their gentler moods. The sea that but 

 yesterday toyed and splashed its harmless waves in play 

 against the vessel's side, to-day, dull and sombre, heaves 

 with fury its seething masses in awful power. Gleaming 

 white crests, like the red caps of anarchy, excite the rebel- 

 lious subjects of Old Ocean to fury, and they rush about, 

 dull, gray and forbidding, terrible in their resistless 

 might, reflecting in the great troughs and swelling- 

 heights the rage of the contending skies above. It is an 

 exhilarating sensation to stand on the bow of a bounding 

 vessel, as it rises to surmount some great billow or dashes 

 in a mass of foam through the heart of an opposing sea. 

 The xiulse will quicken, the breast will heave, and high 

 thoughts and noble impulses be born in the presence of 

 the greatest of the manifestations of Almighty powers. It 

 seems to me that when one's time comes to die, a death 

 in the midst of dashing waters and shrieking winds, a 

 death in the very presence of Nature's God, would be a 

 grand end, a death worthy of a man. 



We had a pretty hard time getting into Carabelle, but 

 by exceedingly careful handling managed to run up the 

 somewhat intricate channel at the mouth of Crooked 

 River and tied at the apology for a wharf that receives 

 the shipping of the town. It is a place of only two or 

 three stores, but has some importance on account of the 

 large sawmills that are here situated, the shipping facili- 

 ties are much better than at Apalachicola, the deep water 

 approaching closer into land and doing away with so 

 much lighterage. Crooked River, at the mouth of which 

 the village lies, is a narrow, winding estuary of the Gulf 

 that divides St. James Island from the true mainland 

 and connects the waters of St. George's Sound with those 

 of Ockolockone Bay. Some two miles above Carabelle, 

 New River empties into the Crooked. It is upon the ter- 

 ritory watered by these streams that the sawmills princi- 

 pally depend for their supply of logs. A tram-railway of 

 two or three miles penetrates St. James Island and gives 

 an outlet for the magnificent timber everywhere to be 

 found. We spent several days exploring New River; it 

 is a very narrow, winding stream of great depth, the 

 banks often falling sheer down into fifteen feet. Toiling 

 up the current was laborious work, as the wind, shifting 

 around through the forest aisles, was very variable, and 

 the twisting, serpentine course of the river made many 

 long reaches in which we had to battle with wind as well 

 as tide, In such places, poling being impossible on 

 account of the deep water, all hands would go ashore and 

 haul the schooner up stream by means of a rope fastened 

 to the bow — pretty tough work I can assure you, with the 

 thermometer in the nineties. The country is one vast 

 wilderness of pine forest, with only occasional swamps, 

 and is about as promising a portion of western Florida as 

 I ever saw. It has a great reputation as being a fine 

 game preserve. 



We kept a sharp lookout for bears but saw none; in fact, 

 save alligators and a few herons and cranes, there was 

 an absolute dearth of animal life. The water of these 

 Florida streams is of the deepest black, stained with the 

 decay of the luxuriant vegetation. 



On the morning of the third day the river became so 

 narrow that we were obliged to give up the notion of fur- 

 ther progress, so we "bouted ship" and started back. 

 The wind being for the most part favorable, and aided by 

 the strong current, the Geline fairly flew back to Cara- 

 belle, making the trip in about five hours over a distance 

 that had required two days of severe labor to accomplish 

 against the stream, I made a rather odd use of my rifle 

 during the run. At one place, where we had to tack, 

 one of the ropes of our topmast became entangled in the 

 branches of a pine tree, stopping us at a very critical 

 nioment and threatening to tear our rigging all to pieces 

 in an instant; there was no time to climb up and loosen 

 the ropes, so I snatched up my Winchester, took a hasty 

 aim at the waving branch and fired, luckily cutting the 

 cause of our trouble in two,, and freeing the Geline from 

 a rather awkward position. I think that this is the first 

 instance on record of a rifle having been used in naviga- 

 tion. Alex. M. Reynolds. 



Buffalo Photographs.— Chicago, 111.— I got a stand 

 on a herd of buffalo a few days ago in the Flat Head 

 country, Montana, and took about twenty shots at them 

 with my detective camera. I brought away fifteen very 

 fair negatives, of which the inclosed prints are a sample, 

 — G. O. Shields. 



