“This noble sheet of water is now constantly whitened by the sail of the emigrant in pursuit of land, and the stillness of its solitude broken by the splash of the oar, echoed by the merry songs of boatmen. At night the camp-fires of the adventurers are kindled on its banks, after which preparation is made for the evening repast, when, amid conversation and laughing, the toils of the day are lost in sleep. Refreshment ensues, and the morning finds them on their way, vigorous in frame and sanguine in spirit. Game abounds on its banks—the deer break through the thick growth on the margin of the river, and gaze with wonder at the visitors; the curlews give their short whistle and wing their way from the near approach of the intruders; the wild ducks, quietly feasting on the grass, take note of your approach, perhaps, to a place of greater security. Splash, splash goes the water. That’s a mullet jumping at the prospect of being caught by us, or perhaps exerting its utmost activity to escape a hungry bass. If you are furnished with a harpoon or barbed piece of iron, you can have a fine supply of fresh fish every day during your voyage. Oysters are the staple of the stream, the banks being as numerous as though an improvident Legislature had created them, although they never suspend payment or protest a draft for want of funds. The lands north and south of Fort Pierce are rapidly filling up, and thus far, with the exposure of boating, felling timber, planting, and the thousand troubles of an emigrant’s life, the best of health is enjoyed by all. Doctors are at a discount, and among the least useful things on the river.”
Among other local peculiarities found near the Indian River is a kind of shell-sand, which hardens by exposure. The following is an interesting statement, made by a member of the engineer corps, who visited there in 1858: “While we were surveying a point between the St. John’s, near Lake Harney, and Indian River, when watching the excavation of one of these pits, I carefully rolled a ball together from what appeared to be sand taken from the pit, and then threw it on the grass. Upon examination a few hours afterward, it was found to be extremely hard, and the surface covered with those minute shells, which is the principal component of the coquina-rock. Between Musquito Lagoon and Indian River there is a small artificial canal cut through the coquina, the portion exposed being very hard, while the submerged part is crumbling into sand.”
It is an established fact that certain localities on the coast of Florida contain sand which concretes when exposed to the atmosphere. What the component parts of this cement contain no one has satisfactorily determined. It is certain all localities do not possess the same kinds of sand.
The lands in the vicinity of Indian River will produce bananas, pine-apples, oranges, sugar-cane, lemons, limes, strawberries, blackberries, grass, corn, indigo, sweet potatoes, garden vegetables, and tomato-vines that bear for three years, and bird pepper-plants which will grow into little trees, bearing all the time.
Hunters live well here on the wild game, while those in the first stages of consumption almost invariably fatten and recover on the diet and atmosphere combined. The following is a favorite dish: Take a fresh fish, without dressing; wrap in a damp paper; then place in the hot ashes; when cooked, pull off the skin while warm; season and eat. It is better than cod-liver oil, and can be swallowed without any winding up of the courage whatever, previous to making the attack.
Is it not pleasant for those who can, whether invalids or not, to spend a part of their winters, at least, in this portion of the State, where we are surrounded by trees clothed in perpetual verdure, loaded with native fruits, to refresh us when wearied with sight-seeing, and sated with tales of the marvelous, with which this country abounds? It is from association with scenes like these that a new impulse is given to our thoughts, which confinement within brick walls, with the smoke and changing temperature of coal-fires, cannot furnish. There is nothing like the soothing influences connected with letting our thoughts wander away with our eyes among the light, vapory clouds, that flit across the sky like floating islands, while we are inhaling an atmosphere soft as the dream of childhood’s innocence, that can warm and stimulate vegetation into maturity at all seasons.
Tourists who go up the St. John’s River, on returning always bring back something in accordance with their varied tastes. Imagine yourself a passenger on the Hattie Barker, a steamer of somewhat smaller dimensions than the Great Eastern, which can do more traveling in the way of making a fuss than any boat on the river, her progress being never less than four miles an hour. All kinds of travelers are returning from the upper St. John’s—those who have trodden the wine-press of bitterness with suffering, and some who have sailed over the summer sea of life without a ripple. Prompted by the impulses which induce all tourists to bring something back when they return home, a quantity of curiosities sufficient to start a small museum has been obtained. No small steamer could ever have contained a larger number of tourists, with a greater diversity of tastes. Here is the sick man, with his nervous system, sensitive as the mimosa, who shrinks at the slightest harsh sound, and continues scolding about “such a crowd on the boat,” as though some of them should have remained that he might have more room to fret and scold at his patient wife. Then there come the father and mother, with four little boys and two girls, besides the tiny baby and two nurses. How they rush about their limited boundaries! What a restless family of children, with the ruddy glow of health, keeping the parents and nurses in a constant state of trepidation for fear they will fall into the water! This family has no curiosities. With a long journey to their home in Canada before them, their hearts are full without other incumbrances. Two ladies sitting near us have a chameleon in a pickle-jar; one of them is catching flies for its dinner. What a pleasure it appears to give them when, darting out its coral-colored tongue, and winking its bright eyes, it gobbles them up so quickly! There is a lad, with two young alligators, who persists in taking water from the ice-cooler, to pour on them for fear they might die. The stewardess is on the alert to thwart his movements, by telling him, “Dat cooler-water is for de folks, and not dem ole black ’gaitors.” The lad retorts by saying the water isn’t clean. The stewardess says, “Yes, ’tis only a few settlements in de bottom.” A sound comes from one of the staterooms, which is unmistakably made by young turkeys going North, in March. How the keen winds up there will pierce their downy coats! They had better save their voices for the cries they will have to utter then. The ornithologist is also represented, with his stuffed birds, having a flamingo, a plume-crane, an owl, eagle, and living red-bird. Another has paroquets, which he imagines, by some mysterious manipulations, can be made to talk like a South American parrot. One man, from Indian River, has an immense pelican, with an enormous flat bill, below which is a pouch attached, containing its rations. Some of the anxious mothers have heard it eats children. What terrible looks they give this poor fellow with the big bird, who appears so happy in the possession of his newly-found treasure, because to him it is so remarkably curious! Another has a blue crane, belonging to the order Grus cinerea, standing erect on its stilts, showing fight. How it snaps every thing which approaches it, like some crabbed people in the world! A young man has a slender, not grown, animal, which he informs us is a Cervus Virginius, or fawn, that he proposes taking to a friend. Among the number is an archæologist, who has been exploring the mounds of Florida, and procured a trophy from the recesses of a long-since departed Indian’s grave. It is a stone hatchet, which was designed to hew trees and make boats, that the deceased might move not only with unrestrained freedom through the lands of the Great Spirit, but also across his pure streams. The most entertaining and original tourist of all is an unmistakable Dutchman, from Indiana, born on the River Rhine. He is a “bugologist,” or beetle-gatherer. Hard-backed bugs and fresh-water shells are his hobby. He has collected and sent a barrel of specimens home in advance of him, and now he is carrying a big box, strapped tightly with the same care as a returned miner would his nuggets of gold. For our amusement he opened his treasure-box. The toilet articles of no lady were ever arranged with more care. Shells odorous with the remains of their former tenants, wrapped in cotton and tissue-paper, bugs and beetles with alcohol on them, or fastened to a card with long, tiny pins made for that purpose, and, last of all, a quinine-bottle in his pocket, in readiness to capture any stray bug that might happen to be out on an excursion. Numerous cages, containing young mocking-birds and red-birds, are sitting around, while the tables are piled with palmetto, air-plants, and American pitcher-plants. Every available space is occupied—baskets stuffed with oranges, lemons, and grape-fruit, while gray moss fills the interstices.
Many of the best people in our country are found traveling over Florida during the winter—some looking for homes, and others only pleasure-seeking, a few for health.
The number of old people with whom we meet while traveling here is quite remarkable. Some have sweet, sunny faces; others look as though life had been a continued struggle with them until now, when their solicitude was on the qui vive for fear they should get in behind time, or some impending danger might befall them, they do not exactly know what.
The indefatigable sportsman in Florida is ubiquitous: With gun in hand, he is constantly watching for game. If many a bird at which he aims flies away unharmed, the excitement of shooting with unrestrained freedom appears to give satisfaction, if nothing is killed.