“Papa,” said Kit, “hadn’t you better explain to the children what Everglades are?—one time I didn’t know myself.”
“That is right, Kit. There is a part of Florida, as large, I should think, as the whole State of Massachusetts, which is covered with water. Tall grass and reeds grow up in this water, and occasionally small islands are found, covered with trees and tangled vines. Some of our most beautiful flowering vines, such as the Wisteria, with its purple clusters of blossoms, which you see hanging from the posts of our back piazza, and the sweet-scented jessamine, are brought from those islands which are homes for snakes, alligators, wild boars, and wolves. Indians used often to hide themselves in these Everglades, and come down in their canoes by night and attack the neighboring settlements. In order to protect the lives of the people near, the United States erected a fort close by, and the soldiers were constantly sent out from it into these Everglades to hunt out the Indians. It was soon found that some other plan must be adopted, for soldiers died rapidly, as those places were filled with a very unhealthy atmosphere called miasma, much like that of the jungles you have heard of in India, where the only paths are those which the wild beasts make on their way to find water. Wolves and tigers hide there in the dark thickets to spring out upon travellers, and huge boa-constrictors hang from the branches of the trees ready to spring down, wind themselves around their victims, and crush them instantly.
“There are fierce wild animals in the Florida Everglades, but the atmosphere is just about as fatal to life.
“The soldiers having died in great numbers, large mastiffs, or bloodhounds, were sent in the Everglades to do the work, but the hounds would not serve the soldiers. Perhaps the Indians made friends with them, or they liked the wild life and plenteous game of the glades; however that may be, the hounds all disappeared, and nothing was heard of them for a long time, excepting an occasional baying during the stillness of the night.
“One day, one of them, this very Ranger, came back to the fort, terribly mangled, his body torn open by the polished tusks of the wild boar, and, with what seemed human reason, the poor, suffering creature made his way directly up to the surgeon’s quarters, and presented his case to Uncle Lee, who always had a great fondness for animals of every sort. He examined the wound carefully, and found it would be necessary to sew it up at once; but this his brother officers entreated him not to attempt. They said it would be foolhardy, for at the first prick of the needle, the animal would, of course, turn upon the hand that gave the pain, and fearfully injure him.
“Uncle Lee hesitated; but the dog looked up piteously in his face, as if saying,
“‘You are my only hope,’ and he could not resist that look of entreaty.
“The officers, seeing he was determined, surrounded the animal; one stood with loaded musket aimed at his head, so that at the first attempt on his part to injure the surgeon, he could shoot him instantly.
“It must have been a thrilling scene, that savage bloodhound standing so patient, Uncle Lee, with face white as a sheet, and his friends silent from dread and terror. An officer present, wrote me of it in these words: