March, 1923 
We were not to know at the start of 
a strange turn in events scheduled for 
our entertainment — and Sonny-Boy’s 
education in sportsmanship of two kinds 
—the good and the bad. 
4 The “Lucretia” was a sizable little 
motor-boat, cut down and sliced away 
for deep-sea fishing. She was broad aft, 
with room enough and to spare for can¬ 
vas chairs, and her commodious ice- 
chest hinted at the Cap’n’s ability to take 
parties to where they were biting. 
True, the old engine coughed and 
wheezed occasionally in protest against 
the tide which swept into the Bay 
through the cuts but Mister Medders 
always coaxed her back into trim. 
Forward there was a trim cabin, an oil 
stove, pans for frying fish and the 
flotsam and jetsam of many years of 
fishing in Miami waters. Sonny-Boy 
stretched out atop this cabin, his curly 
hair ruffled by the warm wind and his 
features a study in sublime contentment. 
We had boarded the “Lucretia” up 
the Miami River, chugged past the big 
hotel and the quaint little “baby” light¬ 
house on Brickell Point, and were 
headed southward in a bay as gorgeous 
in its soft green shimmer and shine as 
an immense opal. To the eastward we 
saw the jagged saw-tooth ridge of the 
Australian pines of Virginia Key, re¬ 
lieved, here and there, by the mangroves 
at the water’s edge. 
Then Bears Cut and the urge of the 
tide and finally after an hour of balmy 
voyage—Biscayne’s much more impres¬ 
sive display of mangroves, topped by the 
tall cocoanut palms of the lower end. 
Sonny-Boy's appetite had come upon him 
j suddenly, a ravenous longing for food, 
; and he nibbled at sandwiches as I took 
| the wheel and Cap’n Jim began to fuss 
f with the lines. 
Now we had reached the southern¬ 
most tip of Biscayne Key, and the 
venerable, dismantled lighthouse, charged 
with Spanish and Indian lore, poked its 
! sullen nose above the palms. Beyond— 
! off the extremity of Cape Florida—only 
the bay melting into ocean and a far 
foamy line where quiet waters met the 
, waves in angry clash. 
Shoreward, to the west of us, the flat 
’Glade country was lost in swimming 
mist. We were all well-nigh out of sight 
1 of land and headed straight into tem¬ 
pestuous going. 
It is very rough here—miles of com¬ 
batting tides and saucy currents and 
great, green rollers, that seemed to enjoy 
l tossing the “Lucretia” around as if she 
were no more than a chip. 
But Sonny-Boy was not of the sea¬ 
sick kind. Cap’n Jim, the spray on his 
rugged face, watched sharply ahead, and 
Sonny-Boy worked his way around to 
where I was sitting, aft, with some of 
his old-time timidity in evidence. 
I could feel his vibrant body coming 
close. Then his arm went up to my 
! shoulder. His voice choked a little as 
he whispered: 
“Isn’t it WONDERFUL, Father!— 
ISN’T it!” 
The vistas looking seaward from the Keys were strangely reminiscent of motion- 
picture atmosphere 
I nodded. After a silence he asked: 
“Are you sure I’m not spoiling your 
trip for you?” 
Speech was not possible. I just snug¬ 
gled him up in my arm, and put my 
cheek against his curly head. But he 
understood. 
A longer hour—an hour of combat 
with the rough waters, and then a faint, 
ghostly knoll ahead of us—a mere dot 
in all that vast expanse of ugly billows. 
“There she is!” exclaimed Cap’n Jim, 
pointing. 
“An island?” I inquired. 
“All-the-Fish-in-the-World Key,” he 
grinned. “THAT’S Soldier Key. A 
surprise is waitin’ for you, mark my 
word. Nothin’ north of us until you get 
to Biscayne; nothin’ south till you reach 
Ragged Keys, and they’re quite a spell 
off. Whatever made the good Lord put 
this dot out in the middle of things is 
past human figurin’. And there’s a man- 
eatin’ shark to the foot. Here’s where 
they come fer ’em on reg’lar ex-ped- 
ditions. Sailfish out further—anything 
you want—but I remember what the boy 
said—look to your lines and it might 
not be a bad idea to commence cuttin’ 
up some shrimp.” 
W E picked our course cautiously 
through one of the two narrow 
channels, the Captain being as watchful 
as a cat after mice; his brown, bony 
hands firmly clasped on the wheel. Son¬ 
ny-Boy, at the threshold of his first 
wonderful adventure, divided his time 
between the top of the cabin and a seat 
beside me. His quick, impetuous pres¬ 
sure on my arm at frequent intervals 
was no more than an assurance of the 
material truth of all that had transpired. 
He could not quite believe it, even now. 
For my part, I was conscious of proud 
sponsorship. Dear little fellow! I saw 
in him the miniature reproduction of 
myself,—spiritual because of Youth and 
a bundle of unrestrained animation. 
“This Key,” explained the Captain, 
“was Government property. Years ago, 
them fellers as built Fowey Rock Light¬ 
house made it their headquarters. 
Guess they sort o’ liked to travel down 
here the four and a half miles eastward 
fer th’ sake of .a change—to say nothin’ 
of gettin’ away from mosquitoes as big 
as young pelicans and with beaks on ’em 
most as long. Jest as soon as Fowey 
was finished, 01’ Cape Florida Light was 
let slide.” 
We could now determine with a fair 
degree of clearness the details of the 
Key. It was so small that the roughly- 
built hut a short distance up the beach 
and the rather modern wooden dock, 
seemed grotesquely out of proportion. 
Aside from these two marks of civiliza¬ 
tion, the island was quite primitive, its 
gnarled mangroves and stunted bays and 
live oaks hugging close to their feeble 
soil, as if to hide from the storms and 
the beat of the relentless green ocean. 
Southward, this wooded area became a 
swampy, mysterious thicket, bounded on 
the far shore by a sixty-foot expanse of 
jagged rock formation, cruel for bare 
(Continued on page 138) 
Cap’n Jim 
