404 
FOREST AND STREAM 
July. 1918 
Are the drainage canals of southern Flor¬ 
ida reclaiming the Everglades country? 
These three photographs are conclusive 
purging. His appetite would be served. 
His acquisition was heavy with roe. 
Mr. King fried the roe in deep fat, over 
a crackling fire, but he had no stomach for 
the dish. In fact, all three, after the first 
whiff, thought of the garfish repast of the 
day before, and turned white. With the 
first heat contact, the roe turned a bril¬ 
liant, poisonous carmine. It was a red 
that suggested the uncooked. But no 
amount of frying changed the appalling 
red color. The flesh of the gar is affected 
in the same peculiar manner. It is tough, 
hard, rubbery. 
“Roe tastes like mud,” grunted Catlow. 
“And probably has as much real nourish¬ 
ment,” added John, “but it’s fillin’, old man, 
at any rate. Have a bit of cabbage palm 
salad.” 
Catlow couldn’t see the joke. He was 
hungry and the eating of that breakfast 
did not satisfy his hunger. Mr. King con¬ 
tented himself with a drink of hot broth 
and a munch of the cabbage palm heart. 
While the youngsters were cleaning the 
few dishes and packing the boat, he waded 
out across the sloughs on two sides of the 
myrtle clump. 
There were water holes in plenty, and an 
occasional slough filled with shallow, 
murky water to the depth of a few feet— 
but it did not look encouraging. There 
were no leads—no signs of a distinct flow 
to the southward and to Harney. 
In one pocket, Mr. King spied a great 
’gator. He fired with his revolver, but the 
bullet glanced and the ugly customer dis¬ 
appeared in a nest of bubbles and mud. To 
dig him out would prove an almost impos¬ 
sible task. His hole or nest might run 
back under the muck for his entire length. 
1 An adjacent hammock of small propor¬ 
tions gave evidence of the dry spell. The 
coco-plums, palmettos and bay tangles were 
turning sere and brown. Buttonwoods 
drooped and vines hung limp from bur¬ 
nished myrtles. But it was here that Mr. 
King discovered the real secret of their 
mysterious malady. All that ’Glade guides 
had told him and all that past experience 
had taught, came back vividly as he parted 
a cluster of vines and looked through, into 
a slough skirting the hammock. 
“Everglades dogwood!” He all but 
shouted the words. More than one Set :i- 
nole had told the sinister story of them. 
“Him root in slough make water heep bad 
for drink. Poison. Much sick. No get 
well if keen on drink. Very bad. Root 
Our first view of the blessed cypress. The 
discovery of cypress and mangrove indi¬ 
cated that the coast was not far distant 
him go through muck—him go through 
much water, long ways. Inside go bad. 
No doctor help much ’cept big doctor. Bet¬ 
ter go thirsty. Evil spirit in dogwood root.” 
Some strange chemical action took place, 
when dogwood root in profusion, and 
slough water came in contact, one with the 
other. This action was marked when there 
was little water in the sloughs and along 
the banks of the clumps and hammock 
islands. The liver was affected almost im¬ 
mediately. It stopped the action of the 
organ—tied it in a knot. And they had 
been compelled to drink many times from 
the sloughs—had done so, unthinkingly. 
The gar, as bad as it was, had not done 
the real harm. It was dogwood root! 
Cypress had given the trails picturesque 
quality and the mangrove, even this far 
from Harney, was in evidence, but the dog¬ 
wood—ah, that had cropped up insidiously. 
The hammock now stands high and dry 
in the midst of sun-baked silt and shell. 
The wooden structures are canoe docks 
How the party made that next ten miles, 
no one of them knew. In a daze they 
stupidly plodded on, dragging and carrying 
the 'skiff, under the most trying conditions. 
If only the sun had blazed its radiant face 
in the sky. That would have cheered them. 
It remained overcast, with always a hint of 
the oncoming storm. 
Then another gray, chill night settled 
over the ’Glades and another grim camp 
was built in the cabbage palms of a wind 
swept island. They ate nothing. The rel¬ 
ish and even the desire for food had gone. 
The very thought of it was revolting. The 
dead water sloughs impregnated the night 
air with horror. Their clothes were torn, 
their camp equipment soggy and difficult to 
handle. It was with the greatest difficulty 
they built a fire, nursing it along with 
soggy twigs and rotted bay wood. 
The tent fly was put in place, for a driv¬ 
ing rain came from the East, cold and 
penetrating and bearing with it the sort of 
mist that makes marrows ache. No game! 
not a smitch. The water of the sloughs, 
even when boiled, was disgusting as its 
odor reached the nostrils. 
All night long, Mr. King stifled the 
groans that mounted to his lips. His’ suf¬ 
fering had reached a genuine climax. 
Sharp pains cut his thighs. Catlow re¬ 
peatedly cried out in his troubled sleep. 
Little John murmured of his beloved 
mother and sister. 
And here again, we shall tell our story 
by extracts from Mr. King’s diary. How¬ 
ever disjointed the ' details may be, they 
merely reflect the intense suffering and ' 
agony of those dreadful hours. They were 
glad to leave the clump, when morning 
came, for they had found upon it, broken 
open by falling trees and the washing away 
of shells and silt, an ancient Indian grave. 
Bared to view, were the yellow, bleached 
bones of some long dead Seminole chief; 
the crude log box-like sepulchre gone into 
sad decay. 
March 6th.—Delayed start. Pattering of 
rain. Most disagreeable weather. Empty 
stomachs. No food except half dead gar in 
sloughs. More afraid of water than ever. 
Compelled to try gar steak stew. Tem¬ 
pered taste with bay leaves. Gives us all 
violent attacks of acute indigestion. John 
made broth of wild carrot. Refreshing and 
warming to stomach. Another marvelous 
sight of water spout on Gulf. We could 
see it plainly despite mist and inclement 
(continued on page 437) 
Seven months ago, Seminoles built 
a camp on the myrtle hammock, 
entirely surrounded by water 
