656 
FOREST AND STREAM 
Jo-Dog and Ole Spot, The White Turkey 
A Charming Yarn of Early Days Along the Gulf When Florida Was one Great Game Paradise 
By Osceola. 
E boys all knew him as “Ole 
Spot” because he had a queer 
patch of white on one side and 
wing, and we had seen him fly 
off looking as though he had 
a hole in one wing. We rarely 
had a glimpse of him on the 
ground—He was too wary for 
that apparently. One Sunday when we were stroll¬ 
ing about we saw him skulking along near some 
blackberry bushes, where no doubt he had been 
making a mid-day meal, for we had long ago 
found turkeys were desperately fond of these ber¬ 
ries. We thought he hadn’t seen us and we tried 
to sneak in on him, but bless goodness ! We never 
saw more than one big foot-print from where 
he had lit out behind a big stump. 
Four of us boys, John, Frank, brother Tom and 
I grew up together close neighbors, along one of 
the Gulf rivers of West Florida in the days 
when game was plenty enough for all of us 
and if there was any close seasons, game pro¬ 
tection or Audubon societies, the old folks never 
told us about them and we didn’t know enough, 
and the more shame, we didn’t care enough, to 
make any inquiry. 
Once a month an old preacher came to the 
Iron Spring school house and preached three 
long strong sermons, flavored with brimstone and 
glaring with hoofs, tail and horns! No doubt 
it was good for us all. Nothing milder would 
have satisfied nor perhaps have held us in check, 
but in these days I fear he could not hold a 
congregation for the second session. 
I believe the change in that line has been for 
the better as no doubt it has been in so many 
other directions, even if he does cost us all so 
much more to live and die. 
In those days if we had business in our county 
town, eighteen miles distant, we would be well 
on our way an hour or more before sun-up 
astride a well-gaited mule, or if cotton or syrup 
was to be carried, we usually traveled most of 
the night and reached our market my sunrise 
and were ready to turn our faces homeward 
long before noon, unless it was fair day, circus- 
day or some other grand occasion, when we might 
stay over and then traveled back during the next 
night, a tired party but with enough to tell the 
neighbors and home folks for weeks and feeling 
repaid for loss of sleep and weariness almost 
uncontrollable to a growing lad. 
On such a trip we always carried lunch and 
feed for ourselves and the animals and rarely 
had occasion or opportunity to expend many 
nickels for anything not absolutely necessary. 
The pay for crops were all traded out. For the 
most part the dealers gave us credit in advance 
of the crop grown and we were forced to sell 
to him at his price and pay for what we needed 
at his price also. Little wonder that our yoke 
felt heavy and discouragement often came, and if 
the crop failed—cotton for the most part—we far¬ 
ed badly for the next year. Corn, bread and syrup, 
hog meat and hominy were our mainstay at meal 
times and if the “cholera” carried off the hogs 
in the community, as it usually did about once 
in five or six years, we would expect our ribs 
to stand out like barrel-hoops unless game was 
abundant and then we boys knew we would have 
ample opportunity to hunt and fish and we made 
the best of it. 
At twelve to fourteen years of age any one 
of us four boys would not hesitate to travel any 
swamp or bayou from Shepherd’s Spring, five 
miles on the west, to Gum Swamp, six miles 
east, by day or night and many a deer and turkey 
we toted home or got in our boat and if wind 
and tide were fair came around by the lighthouse 
and up river home. 
My father had grown up in south Florida and 
while not much at book learning he was un¬ 
usually observant of living and growing things 
and took pains to teach the older boys of the 
family what he had mastered by hard knocks 
and keen eyes, of the things about us, so that 
we soon grew to know the names of trees, plants, 
birds and other creatures, where to find them 
and their uses so far as he knew them, and we 
sometimes could add to his information which 
was really a pleasure to him and he always 
boasted of such an event to his associates when 
he was at home or around the store of a late 
evening. 
If ever a father was a “brother to his boys” 
we experienced that good fortune and I have 
to thank him for so keen an interest in natural 
history and for the pleasure derived yet in a trip 
afield, either walking or driving. While he went 
to his rest many years ago I often have to stop 
at sight of some object of especial interest and 
recall with what delight he would have seen such 
occurrence. Who knows but he does see it with 
me! I hope so indeed. 
Well, you think “Ole Spot” is a long while in 
coming I reckon; but bear with a garrulous gray¬ 
headed Cracker who probably has few hunting 
seasons left and is living in the past perhaps 
more than in the present. It’s a great tempta¬ 
tion when an old fellow get to talking, to ramble 
around among the stumps and sticks and after 
awhile he is pretty sure to find his way to where 
he started and so I’ll get back to that old gobbler. 
For two years we had know that “Old Spot” 
was living around Osceola Bayou, which lay two 
miles south across the big marsh. It was a rather 
isolated hunting region, the bay and river marshes 
surrounding it on three sides with a very few 
scattered pines thereon, while off north to east 
two small streams sauntered through the saw- 
grass and reeds with two or three miniature 
lakes where they widened. On these, pond lilies 
opened their pure white blooms—we called them 
and other water plants “bonnets,” while two or 
three kinds of odd-flowered pitcher-plants and 
other curiously flowered plants bordered these 
ponds. I expect all have been named long ago. 
Father told us that a stranger from Boston had 
spent a week with him several years earlier and 
had said that many of these flowers had no book 
names at that time. “New Species” of course 
the botanist of to-day would proclaim. 
Along these streams, trees and underbrush were 
more abundant, some pines, live oaks, water oaks 
and sweet bay, while in the bayou proper the 
trees grew more plentiful and cabbage palmetto, 
sweet gum, water oaks, ash and other kinds 
were numerous and large, while a few im¬ 
mense cypress trees grew where the water 
was most abundant, their numerous “knees” so 
thick in places as to bother us in getting about. 
For the most part, however, there was little run¬ 
ning water because of a large “sink” that took 
in the waters of the two streams just below 
where they united and their further disposition 
was always a mystery to us, although similiar 
sinks were by no means rare through that coun¬ 
try, where lime rock was abundant. 
There was no other good hunting country close 
by this Bayou and the tramp across the marsh 
was tiresome so that we did not often get into 
Old Spot’s territory. 
With our sail-boat we could anchor two miles 
east of the lighthouse and row up another bayou 
about a half mile and so get within about three- 
quarters of a mile of Osceola bayou. This was 
our usual route when we went purposely to hunt 
the wary old bird. 
The blackberries, on which he and others of 
his kin and now and then a bear, fed and grew 
fat, were on higher land off from one of the 
small streams with only a few small pines grow¬ 
ing among them. 
Tom had been the first of us boys to see Old 
Spot. He and father came through that way 
from East river swamp late one October evening 
and were hurrying to get home before dark. 
They had a big turkey hen and a pocketful 'of 
squirrels and did not care particularly for more 
game and so were taking no pains to go quietly 
and were not on the lookout. 
Father was in the lead and walking fast, Tom 
told us, Jo-dog, as we called our “pup,” was close 
at his heels and Tom followed a few steps in 
the rear. Tom noticed that the dog was uneasy 
and knew that some game was near and was not 
surprised to see a big gobbler put out from 
back of a gall-berry bush and streak it for brush. 
Tom cuffed Jo-dog to keep him in and called to 
father to look. Both had a clear view of Ole 
Spot as he scurried off with wings half open. 
One of them, as Tom declared to us, “with a 
great big hole in it.” 
That night we had John and Frank come over 
and stay with us as father had told us he would 
have something to say to us all. After supper. 
