6 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Jan, 4, 18UG 
The poor old fellow was evidently nothing of a woods- 
man, and was utterly destitute; having neither knife, 
gun nor axe, blanket, compass nor matches. (He kindled 
the fire we saw with matches given him by the party 
who had found him that day.) 
After his food was gone he ate bunch berries, frogs and 
four little dead fish he found on the shore of a pond. 
The old man said he cleaned the frogs with his fingers, 
but "had to eat 'em with the rind on." 
Once as he drank from a pool he noticed that a red- 
topped grass growing in it "smelled good," and he plucked 
and ate it, finding it warm and spicy tasting, and it 
seemed to do him good. Poor old Nebuchadnezzar! 
He came often on moose and deer; and how his poor 
empty belly must have hungered for their savory meat! 
Once he saw a cow moose and calf standing on the fur- 
ther side of a little brook not 20ft. off. He said pathetic- 
ally, "I thought ef a fellow did have a gun, which one 
would he shoot first?" 
Again he saw "a monsterous bull moose a- thrashing 
round in the bushes, tell yer I didn't go any nigher him" 
In his wanderings he had gone far to the westward 
among and around ponds and streams inaccessible by 
canoe, and to which no trails have been cut. We found 
this to be so by comparing his description of the country 
with Hubbard's map. 
On his arrival at camp every one took a hand at exam- 
ing and cross-questioning the old vagabond, and some of 
his answers were intelligent enough, as when, for in- 
stance, he was asked why he did not stay in one place, 
instead of wandering about in this way, he replied, 
"You be more book-learned than I be, but there's many 
things ter know outside books, and I like to stay in a 
neighborhood till I know all the folks there and find 
out all I can, then I go on to some other neighborhood." 
After being fed and warmed he seemed more rational 
and coherent in his speech, and we finally made up our 
minds that the old man was sane enough. 
His speech ran much on religion; his talk was steeped 
in it; and he sometimes expressed himself forcibly and 
well. 
Perhaps somewhat simple-minded by nature, his 
thoughts had been turned to the mysteries of the invis- 
ible world, and, as you cannot put the universe into a pint 
cup, it was too much for him, and he paid little attention 
to the things of the visible world. 
The singular thing about the man was his cpmplete in- 
difference to the privations he had undergone. He did 
not once complain of his sufferings by cold or hunger; in- 
deed, it did not seem to occur to him that he had any- 
thing to complain about, and old, poor, without friends or 
family, a piece of mere human driftwood, he was perfectly 
happy and contented. 
Only one thing troubled him; he was so hungry, he 
said, that he ate the food the lady gave him that day 
without first giving thanks to God! 
Well, the old fellow stayed in camp a couple of days, 
then everybody chipped in and gave him some money, 
clothes and other things, and he was set across the lake 
with provisions for two days and started down the tote 
road to Oxbow. And as the old Norse sagas say, "So he 
goes out of the story." F. W. P. 
H. 0. A. 
CRUISE OF THE YACHT DUNGENESS. 
In Two Parts— Part I. 
The sun was shining bright and warm as we weighed 
anchor and were off down the harbor of Fernandina, 
Florida, on Washington's Birthday, Feb. 22, 1895. Our 
party consisted of six, with fifteen in the crew to direct 
and care for us. The destination was in a measure un- 
known, as both Florida's extensive coast line with its 
many harbors offered numerous havens, not to mention 
the Greater and Lesser Antilles, besides the Windward 
and Leeward Isles. The sea was smooth and the sun so 
warm we had the canvas stretched over the bridge and 
sat there all afternoon as we ran down the shore by 
Amelia Island and across the mouth of St. John's River 
to St. Augustine's light. A pilot, wired to meet us, was 
seen rowing out from shore and soon came on board. 
The channel, though buoyed, is winding and admits of 
only 12ft. over the bar; so we with our 9ft. glided safely 
over, and as night fell let go anchor off Castle San Marco 
or Ft. Marion. St. Augustine has not changed greatly in 
the last five years since first Mr. Flagler touched the 
sleeping city with a magic wand. 
Who can fitly describe the beauty of the Ponce de Leon 
and its adjacent glories, the Cordova and Alcazar? As 
one walks about amid their beauties, visions of the Al- 
hambra come to you; but saddest of sights was the de- 
struction Jack Frost had wrought with his too magic 
wand. No money nor prayers seemed to stop his devas- 
tation there last winter, and in fact in all Florida. Where 
of yore roses bloomed along old walls and banana trees 
and palms reared their graceful limbs, now drooping 
black leaves tell their own story. But I will not linger 
in the steps of those who have so vividly described all the 
wonders and beauty of St. Augustine, only saying that I 
advise all who can to visit this in very many respects our 
most foreign city, and see there the best types in America 
of the Spanish Renaissance. On the [ramparts of the 
old fort we can see in memory's eye the grim armor-en- 
cased warriors of Spain when in her glory, for it was 
near here Ponce de Leon landed way back in 1512 search- 
ing for the fountain of eternal youth. Time works won- 
ders indeed when it develops a fort and city, built for 
protection against Indians, into a winter home of all the 
twentieth century luxury. 
No sentry watched our goings that Sunday morning as 
we steamed out past the tall black-striped tower of St. 
Augustine's Lighthouse. The gentle breeze of the night 
before had grown in twelve hours to a stiff norther, and 
dancing over the shallow bar twice we struck bottom. 
The pilot from his small boat near shore safely guided us 
out, however, by waving his hand, for he did not dare 
risk a row back in the small craft at his disposal. We 
found the wind had kicked up a big sea, and riding in the 
trough, some of us were soon mal de mer. Pointing 
S.E. by S. f S., we skirted Anastasia Island and the low- 
lying shore past Ormond Beach with the thin strip of 
land between the ocean and Halifax and Hillsboro rivers 
down to Mosquito Inlet. The poor sick landlubbers 
studied the chart and longed for Cape Canaveral, behind 
which they hoped for anchorage, or at least a slight 
shelter from the wind. But vain hope, for no anchorage 
nor relief from the wind is there, and on we steamed. 
Frank, our steward, would tell them breakfast, lunch, 
dinner and supper were served, and recount of the very 
long lists, each separate thing good to eat, but strange to 
say, few responded. I sat on the bridge long past mid- 
night talking to our pilot, a most interesting and com- 
municative old sea dog, whose papers made him pilot 
from St. John's bar around the coast to New Orleans. 
He bad the reputation of being able to take ships draw- 
ing 9ft. over 8ft. bars, and carrying sinking hulks 
through hurricanes, and never had he lost a boat. To 
any yachtsman who chances to read this, if you are 
cruising in southern Florida, Havana or Nassau, take 
Capt. Canti, of Jacksonville. 
From Cape Canaveral to Indian River Inlet is 58 
miles, the only opening on that coast for 103 miles, and 
marking thus the lower outlet to Indian River. This 
strange river, a winter home for ducks and sportsmen, is 
at no time more than two or three miles from the sea, 
and runs along the shore, a veritable sound, and is so 
called from the Indian River Inlet to Santa Lucia Inlet, 
82 miles below. By glancing at Florida on the map 
one cannot dream of its wonderful coast line, 472 miles 
on the Atlantic and G94 on the Gulf. In breadth this 
State is 300 miles and length 400, stretching from the 
marshes of Glynn near Fernandina westward to the 
rolling hills of Tallahassee, covered with cotton fields 
and pear orchards, and southward from the endless pine 
woods to the Coral Keys. 
When Jupiter Light came within range it had been our 
intention to burn the signal lights, and be thus reported 
by wire thence to our Northern friends; but the sea did 
not admit of running near enough to shore, and we were 
obliged to proceed. What a convenience, though. The 
idea is thus to send a message by night or with signals by 
day even to the end of the world from that deserted spot. 
The cable from|Nassauends there, thus bringing the every - 
day's doings to the Bahama Isles. 
The hours sped on, till over the ocean daylight broke 
and the sun rose out of the sea, a ball of red fire lighting 
a glorious day and the clouds of heaven like streaks of 
molten gold. High up on the beach loomed the tall new 
hotel at Lake Worth, the Royal Poinciana. We knew 
friends awaited us there and also mail, but the breaking 
surf prevented beaching a small boat, the only means of 
landing. I called the others at least to see the place, and 
for doing so was maligned by thoBe who were so few 
hours since happy, jolly folk, but now were prostrate 
forms stretched about on sofas, or even the floor, bewail- 
ing their seasick lot and praying to be left alone. 
When once we had passed this last and most southern 
tourist resort we felt indeed we were off on our cruise. 
The railroad and telegraph ended at Lake Worth, and the 
only connection thence to southern Florida was by sea, 
except for the stage and post route along the sandy road 
eighty-five miles to Biscayne Bay. On down the coast we 
passed, with its palmetto trees and sandy shore. By the 
House of Refuge, Fort Landerdale, we saw columns of 
smoke rising from the East Coast Dredging Company's 
machines, at work digging the canal which is eventually 
to connect Indian River and Biscayne Bay. As I under- 
stand it, this is another of Mr. Flagler's gigantic schemes; 
but hearsay says the company is well paid. They receive, 
as our Western railroads once did, for each mile dug 40ft. 
wide and Oft. deep, a land bounty of 10,000 acres. When 
completed, for slight draft boats this will be a fine inland 
passage south. 
A schooner ashore by the House of Refuge has its own 
melancholy tale to tell of lost ship, cargo and may be 
men. Along that shore the Government has built homes 
every twenty-five miles for shipwrecked sailors. For 
some poor man cast on the desolate sandy beach in that 
lonely world, to be welcomed and fed as Uncle Sam's 
ward till chance offers him a return home, is to my mind 
a most noble charity, and whenever hereafter I read of 
an increased appropriation by Congress for lighthouses 
or life-saving stations I will say well done. 
The water now became a beautiful blue and green 
with sun spots of black and brown, the cloud reflections. 
Sharks, porpoises and flying fish, purple tinted Portuguese 
men-of-war and huge turtles floated on the top of the 
waves or swam by, and at our" approach dove to the 
coral reefs below, along which in the clear water for 
many feet we could see them swimming down and 
down. Next came Biscayne Bay House of Refuge, which 
we reached about 11:30 A. M., Feb. 25, and then took 
course due south to Fowey Rock Light past Cape Florida. 
Fowey Rock Light, lllft. in height, built to replace the 
deserted light on Cape Florida, four miles distant, 
towered high on its steel frame. It was built at a cost 
to the Government of nearly $150,000, ranking fourth in 
that wonderful range of first-order lights starting at St. 
Augustine around the islands and capes to Dry Tortugas, 
including the lights of Mosquito Inlet, Cape Canaveral, 
Jupiter Inlet, Carysford Reef, Alligator Reef, Sombrero 
Key, American Shoal, Sand Key and Key West. 
Beautiful Biscayne Bay now opened before us, while 
on shore smoke from the everglades rose to the sky in 
gray black curls. Twice as we slowly picked our own 
way, buoy to buoy, into that long and narrow entrance, 
we scraped bottom, leaving a milky wake where sand 
and soft coral were torn away. When once back of the 
reef which stretches from the cape to the light, all the 
sea was tranquil, and to the sick ones what a relief 
from thirty hours in the trough of the waves. There, 
having waited till late in the afternoon for high tide, 
where the channel widens into deep water close up to 
shore, we dropped anchor in as peaceful a spot as God 
ever made. 
But one day this place was not so peaceful as it looked 
that afternoon. The lighthouse keeper and his attendant, 
a negro, were attacked by the Seminole Indians, many 
years ago, and just managed to escape into the brick 
tower which rises fully 70ft. from the ground. Their 
house was looted and burned, but the stout door leading 
into the lighthouse held out against the Indians for 
twenty-four hours. A fire kindled alongside finally broke 
it in and disclosed to the fiends a wooden staircase, 
which they of course dared not ascend. With no water 
or food the poor prisoners held out, having betaken them- 
selves to the very top of the tower. At first a faint odor 
of smoke, then black volumes curled up the stairway, and 
to their almost maddened senses came the realization 
they were being smoked out. To appear at a window 
was almost certain death, for they were surrounded on all 
sides and rifle balls crashing through the glass had re- 
peatedly warned them of this other danger. The negro, 
unable any longer to stand the intense heat and smoke, 
crawled out on the iron balcony about the light itself and 
was immediately shot dead. The keeper was now nearly 
crazed with suffering, for the flames had mounted to the 
very entrance of his room, and the glass cracked and fell 
all about him. As the smoke in huge clouds burst out 
into the open air he dragged his attendant on to the iron 
grating and stretching the body flat he himself lay on top. 
To describe further the story as I heard it is awful. 
Suffice to say almost a day he lay there in a trance. When 
at last consciousness came he discovered the Indians had 
gone. Unable to descend alone he signaled to a boat 
which chanced to be passing and was rescued. 
Cape Florida was like a view out of uomance. The old 
deserted brick lighthouse, the forsaken keeper's home sur- 
rounded by big cocoanut trees, while close to the water, 
clear as Lake George, stood a light bungalow house lik e the 
pictures of such one sees in India or the South Sea Islands. 
This home is owned, but was not occupied, by a Mr. 
Davis, of Galveston, Texas. The yacht was hardly 
anchored before some of us were ashore in the dinghy to 
find ourselves when landed in a pineapple field. There 
stood an old darky, hoe in hand, making his fortune. 
Darkness quickly fell as it does that far south, but how 
hospitable the climate. Clad in duck trousers, light shir t 
and slippers, and without coat or hat, we sat upon the 
deck discussing plans for the morrow, drinking in health, 
and in buoyant spirits congratulating ourselves that we 
were not in the frozen North. 
Early to bed and early to rise, I found our pilot sitting 
astern smoking his long meerschaum pipe. Ordering a 
boat we rowed ourselves to a nearby coral bank, and in a 
few minutes had the bottom of the boat filled with huge 
conch shells, pink as the sky. At 8 o'clock we were off, 
and proceeded up the bay about five miles to an anchor- 
age three miles off shore. The bay, though thirty -five 
miles long and on an average perhaps five miles wide, is 
shoal over its greater part, ranging from one-fourth of a 
fathom to six in depth, and so clear is the water that 
bottom is visible everywhere. With three men in the gig 
the row to shore was quickly over. 
At the Biscayne Bay Y. C. dock we were met by 
several gentlemen who escorted us to the club house, over 
which floated a flag with embroidered thereon, "25° 
North Lat., B. B. Y. O," a most appropriate ensign, for 25" 
N. Lit. runs across Biscayne Bay. Shaded from the sun 
by large cocoanut trees, royal palms, bamboo, lime and 
orange trees, we walked through the grove to some pine- 
apple and sisal hemp trees beyond. The pineapples 
were not ripe, but gave every promise of a crop; but 
unless told I should not have known the sisal -from 
rows of century plants, as alike almost as two peas in a 
pod. There, away from home and country, I met two 
French gentlemen — one a Count who years ago chose the 
spot not alone for its natural beauty, but for its freedom 
from conventional life. Their house presents a plain 
exterior, but inside is full of curios brought from France 
and other parts of Europe. Hanging from the wall beside 
a magnificent book case, full of the choicest literature, I 
saw the full cowboy accoutrements which Count de Hon- 
taville keeps as a reminder of cowboy days. This estab- 
lished a freemasonry between us, for once upon a time I 
also punched cattle on the Western plains. When last in 
France, two years back, the Count found at his grand- 
father's old castle in an old hair trunk some maps of 
France's possessions in America before the sale to us of 
Louisiana. These maps were made when John Law, that 
famous financier, was floating his Mississippi scheme, and 
everybody preferred Law's paper to gold or lands. Clev- 
erly drawn were these map3. Etched here and there by 
a river bank grew strange and wonderful plants, and across 
the broad prairies roamed pictured herds of wild horses 
and cattle. Indians wearing what no doubt purported to 
be golden ornaments also filled their place in the draw- 
ing. Nothing better could have been done to excite the 
Frenchmen, to whom this new world was a gold mine or 
garden of roses — in truth, a Florida. 
Cocoanut Grove, for so named is this out-of-the-way 
spot, is separated from the Everglades by three miles of 
pine wood and palmettos, all growing in a rocky soil. 
The whole woods is practically a coral reef, the roughest 
walking I ever chanced to come across. The coral had 
the appearance of huge white cheese, nibbled away to 
sharp points, and reaching as high as one's knees in 
places. Progress on foot is slow through such a country 
and I did not wander far, but sat down under a big live 
oak covered with air plants, much like overgrown arti- 
chokes. Where these grow one never dies of thirst, for 
in their cup formation, where each leaf joins the center, 
water collects from the dew, and one I emptied held at 
least a quart of good clear water. Coming, back from the 
woods we walked through Mr. Kirk Monroe's place, a 
gentleman so well known to all for his charming stories 
of life in southern Florida that no eulogy of mine is 
necessary. A clear spring by the house, winter and 
summer, offers a tempting plunge. At the even temper- 
ature of 65 = what could be more delightful; not too cool 
in December and just right in April, May and June. For 
shelter a large mangrove tree dropped its roots like organ 
pipes from the main trunk growing around. These are 
wonderful trees, carrying in the end of each drooping 
stem a long, thick radicle which pierces the mud when 
once it has grown long enough to touch the earth, or 
swaying in the wind to the water's edge, two or three 
branches will collect about themselves floating leaves or 
twigs, which in time settle or gather still more, and work- 
ing thus as patient nature does, a few more feet is won fo 
the land from the sea. But I hear the others calling, 
and much as I should bike to day-dream there in the 
shade as a cool breeze came in from the sea, I had to be 
off. 
Wishing for some fresh fish, we were soon across the 
Bay to Bears out, an inlet from the sea just above Caps 
Florida. We greatly regretted not having brought a 
naptha launch with us, but were fortunate enough to hire 
one from a Mr. Tuttle. To those going South, however, I 
caution yachtsmen to bring your own naptha, for it was 
twenty-five cents a gallon at the Bay, and all else you buy 
in proportion, as I will tell later on. An hour's fishing 
sufficed, for we caught, I think, some twenty or twenty- 
five, and not one had I ev*;r seen its like before. Blue 
and red polka dot, white and blackish, some like a bass, 
others a sunfish; some with gills and some without; some 
had fine teeth, and one, long sharp teeth like a squirrel. I 
have fished in many places, but I never caught in so few a 
number ten different kinds. The waters of the South are 
full of fish, and the strangest thing about it is one never 
knows what you are going to get, maybe a turtle, stinga- 
