December, 1917 
FOREST AND STREAM 
589 
in camp, where luncheon was served—and 
once more the small boat headed toward 
the little known interior. 
In less than thirty days, according to Hal¬ 
lows, three-fourths of the water had been 
drawn off the canal, and beneath, clearly 
discernible through the transparent flow, 
could be seen the floor of hard, firm rock 
and limestone. 
Just what the dredge’s accomplishment 
meant to them, was soon to be discovered 
by the expedition. Three o’clock in the 
afternoon found them paddling and poling 
over unusually shallow water. They had 
left the canal by a portage on the North 
side, and the getting of the boat up and 
across the canal banks required the ex¬ 
ertion of every muscle—and expedient. 
And for two hours this northerly course 
was pursued, with the boat’s bottom grind¬ 
ing and complaining. Mr. King’s supreme 
task, at this time, was to find a waterway 
into the desired territory. Much of the 
land was dry and other portions were 
merely areas of muddy, sticky deposit. Ex¬ 
pecting to find no difficulty, the King party 
now appreciated that a trail would have to 
be found. They could not hope to go in 
any direction at will. ✓ 
What was it Engineer Hallows had said? 
A band of Seminoles, en route to Miami, 
had told him that only at one point on the 
North side of the canal, could progress be 
made. There was an open trail, but they 
had not described its exact location. “Much 
dry—no heap water,” the Chief had said, 
“bad going—hard time come through.” 
And the party had not taken these ad¬ 
vices very seriously—it was “Injun talk.” 
More and more it appeared that the Sem¬ 
inole trail MUST be located—the clear way 
from Big Cypress to the Canal district. 
The afternoon waned rapidly and dark¬ 
ness crept in over the myrtle trees and the 
low hummocks. They heard the “Good¬ 
night” whistles of the drainage tugs two 
miles back, and could even mark their dim 
bulks in the gathering mist. 
Camp must be struck—this was a cer¬ 
tainty. They could not drift in the saw 
grass until morning. That was no “picnic”! 
Open water it was, on ever}' side— 
“sloughs” in countless number, connected 
at intervals by passages of undefined char¬ 
acter. These pockets of water led nowhere 
—were boat-traps, pure and simple. We 
retract the “pure”—they were shallow and 
ill-smelling and none deeper than from six 
to eight inches. 
Sundown came at six o’clock. The 
weather, thanks be, was beautiful—a yel¬ 
lowish sky, unmarred by clouds, and the 
air invigorating. Even the slightest sounds 
could be heard in that vast loneliness. The 
rippling water at the paddle-blades seemed 
strangely noisy in the mysterious silence. 
And then a blest myrtle island was 
sighted to their left—a tiny, unassuming 
rise, above the saw-grass. Shelter trees, of 
stunted shape and size gave form to the 
haven, and scattered over the damp bog 
was the myrtle-wood wastage of years. It 
was not a likely place, but to the tired wan¬ 
derers it was Heaven! 
It required some reconnoitering to gain 
the island, for the sloughs balked them at 
first to spread this discomfiting news, after 
having made a hasty investigation. 
The myrtle wreckage was so damp it 
would not burn and the island was not 
large enough to preserve wood of any kind. 
Every cove squirmed with life—small ’ga¬ 
tors, snakes, and inquisitive turtles. Birds, 
accustomed to lodge here, cheeped and twit¬ 
tered and complained at the intrusion. The 
desolation was majestically complete! 
“Chef” King, Sr., rooted out the solidified 
alcohol cooking set and bacon was soon fry-,, 
ing in the pan. The perfume of it was 
sweeter than “Mary Garden.” Catlow and 
John, perched on the gunwales of the boat, 
munched doughnuts. 
There is very little opportunity to ex¬ 
plore a myrtle island in this particular lo¬ 
cality. The “going” is always treacherous. 
Patches of what seem to be firm, green 
soil, are literally “man traps.” Down you 
go in them, up to your knees—and further. 
And the ooze relentlessly refuses to re¬ 
lease its captives. These boggy, gurgling 
patches are kin to quicksands. 
As for the verdure—it is all that the ro¬ 
mantic mind might conceive. Gorgeous 
trellises of singularly beautiful vines; 
young live oaks, sprinkled over with poi- 
sonously green foliage; thickets of bar¬ 
baric fern and bayonet and saw-grass, re¬ 
lieved, here and there, by the royal purple 
of a cluster of splendid flags. And there 
are always the birds—hundreds upon hun¬ 
dreds of them, as brilliant in their hues 
as any sunset. It is a bird paradise. 
But darkness makes a serious change in 
the aspect of the ’Glades. Ghostly appa¬ 
ritions appear. Strange forms, spectral in 
the moonlight, suddenly seem to spring 
from the shadows. The spirit of many a 
dead Seminole chief stalks forth, beneath 
the rustling leaves. There was something 
quite incongruous in the pale glare of lan¬ 
tern and yellow Veritas. 
, Scarcely begun, the Voyage of Explora¬ 
tion had taken on the genuine atmosphere 
of Adventure. They could smile, now, as 
they sat cross-legged around the Veritas 
l 
Coupled with the drainage processes of the Canal, was an unexpected drought which 
left the waterways almost impassible. Imagine trying to get a boat thru this muck! 
every turn, but the welcome amber glow 
of the lantern was soon a-gleam amongst 
the leaves, and 'the tent was pitched be¬ 
neath the largest of the myrtles. 
“No wood for fire!” Catlow was the 
and devoured a hearty supper. Had they 
known what Fate had marked out for them, 
that first meal in the first camp on Myrtle 
island would have been less generous. 
(to be continued next month) 
f ViiTl/l i klm'jk -I ■? v 
a i-rf 1 kklk'VS ISv 1 
View of table land of the Everglades, western half of the eastern section. The myrtle 
ridges which seem so inviting in the distance are not as hospitable as they look. 
