We went to the much advertised South Beach where we expected to find quite a bit of life, but instead found the cheapest sort of outfit with not a soul in sight. There was an alligator farm with hundreds of the critters from the biggest and oldest down to teeny, weeny little fellows. They also had lots of rattlers and moccasin snakes caught right about here. I guess the Mascot’s cabin is full as good as tent life in these parts. St. Augustine differs from all the other cities we have seen because it is the oldest one in the United States and has a distinct and most attractive individuality handed down from days of Spanish rule. We should have done a little sightseeing but for us, sufficient for each day is the hustle thereof. One evening long after dark as we were leaving the wharf in putt-putt, a man hailed us and asked us where our lantern was. I replied that it was on board the big boat and asked if they were fussy around here. The voice from the dark said, “You are talking with the inspector.” I didn’t just remember the repartee for the situation, but meekly told H. to row on board. Am awaiting arrest now, and it ain’t so funny as it sounds. Would rather be layed to outside than languish in prison. Wish I knew how to spell “Layed-to.” Never feel sure whether I am a sailor or a hen-yard. Have our shore grub in a sort of “Club,” all dolled up in imitation Moorish fashion. Not badly done and good cook. We have never seen more than three persons besides ourselves eating there. I fancy hotels and all are sort of subsidized by Henry M. Flagler. One night we heard a bully crash and down the stairs came a girl imitating Scotty in a fit. H. and I to the rescue pronto. We picked her up, and undoubtedly saved her life, but got no prize, and she dined with another fellow. That makes me think that Scotty being particularly well got some meat the other day. The fun began in the fore peak, but instantly spread over the whole ship. A tangled mass of claws, teeth, and fur landed first in my lap, and then in the cockpit. While H. jumped on deck to see if it had gone overboard, down through the skylight it came like a rocket stick scattering pens, ink, paper, etc., etc. all about. When I picked my head out of my bunk pillows the cyclone had disappeared in the lazaret, the entrance to which we blocked up promptly. No more meat, Scotty.
February 5th. Were away in an undeniably pretty chance. Single reef and good breeze northeast with clear skies. Much more attractive going with shores edged with timber and with water clear and with some color. Strong head tide, but we bucked it handsomely until 12:30 when we took bottom good and plenty giving us a chance to lunch quietly and write log. With coming tide we floated and were stuck again in 100 yards. Floated and ran ashore some more. Next time we got her going, away we went like a pigeon without his tail, for an oyster shell had somehow wedged itself into the bottom rudder pintle hole and so lifted rudder that wheel wouldn’t go in gear. Merry minutes until we could dig old tiller out from lazaret and ship it. Night was falling and after working her around a particularly bad bend we anchored for the night which was clear and precious near frosty.
February 6th. Another peacherino morning with nice working northerly airs. Never had sailboat a better weather chance to work southward. Would like to work it hard but am only just mending up after the previous hard spells and must go easy, so 8:30 before we slipped away. Down river with fair wind and tide abooming. Passed a fine bit of old Spanish ruin. By far and away the best thing of its kind I ever saw over here. It was an old tower built as a southerly defence for St. Augustine. Then we crossed Matanzas Inlet and entered upon some most pernickety navigation. With H. on bowsprit and clear water we managed to get along 4 or 5 miles with repeated draggings, and jumping her over. At last we made a sad miscue and ran her up on an oyster bar with everything standing and at about full of the tide. Had to get mighty busy and mighty quick. Little anchor astern no good. Up hatch and drag out those big 200 lb. sacks of wet sand and put them on rail. No good. Out big anchor, and as last resort, before throwing ballast overboard, I hitched on throat halliards and held her down to her rail. Just as we came two blocks she moved a hair and by lustily pushing and hauling we worked her off and piped crew to dinner. Close call for a 12 hour set and midnight circus. Away after lunch and entered the cuttings of the Florida East Coast Canal Co. Had a bully afternoon. Bright warm sun. Woods open to edge of canal and canal itself interesting with its dredged banks sometimes 20 or more feet high on either hand. Sand mostly of beautiful coloring, siennas, chromes, deep browns and now and then great streaks of gamboge. Sometimes the cuttings had gone for miles through the shell rock called coquina, and here the canal water had cut hundreds of little miniature caves and grottos. Later we passed orange plantations with some trees all in yellow fruit close to the bank. The whole afternoon was fine and the most peaceful and restful we have had for many a day. We saw pelicans and white herons and blue herons, hawks, buzzards, swallows, and big, fat mallard ducks. We skirted close and peered into great, gloomy palmetto forests which somehow had the look of sheltering alligators, and snakes. At nightfall we came to a highway bridge and tooted our horn in vain. Stopped, tied up, and investigated. On a sign we read that if we left the draw open we would have all manner of things done for us. H. was soon playing ring-around-rosey with the iron bar and back the draw was going when down the road from nowhere comes an auto. “Hey, there,” says the pompous one, “Shut that draw and let us over.” “Not much until I’m through,” says I, and we didn’t. The chauffeur came to look at Mascot and said, pointing to her, “Will that go upon the ocean?” “Sure,” says I. “I thought so,” he replied and went to tell the people in the car the remarkable fact. As near as we can find out nobody has ever come down here under sail before. The natives stare with astonishment at the bit of canvas. It is my impression that nobody else will ever come, either. We tied up to the bridge abutment for the night.
February 7th. Weather had turned to the bad during the night, and in the pitch black of 5 a.m. I was waked from a bully sleep by a hurry call on deck from H. First time this cruise that H. has had to call me. Tumbled out to find a big scow houseboat trying to get through the draw and being swept back and down atop of us. We pushed and pulled awhile and finally he worked through and we turned in again. We entered the broad reaches of the shoal Halifax River where stakes and finger posts guided us along a channel having about 6 feet of water. Often for miles there were no posts and we had to go it blindly with help of lead. It rained bucketsful and I wished I could turn boat bottom up, for there was plenty of water upstairs. Worked down past Ormond Beach and passing through the bridges found ourselves off the wharves of Daytona. In trying to reach the wharves we ran her ashore for keeps so went to town in launch. Met Henry’s uncle who was much troubled to think of the Mascot stuck on the mud. Kind friends at the yacht club at once organized a relief expedition which resulted in the running ashore of the relief launch and the smashing of her rudder. Much pulling and hauling followed, but old Mascot never budged which was quite as it should be for I might have broken my rudder if she had started. Late that evening when a few inches of tide served, H. and I put out our big anchor with all our chain to hold it down and after dumping over a little sand ballast, floated her without trouble and somewhat to the surprise of the natives were lying quietly at yacht club wharf early next morning.
February 8th to 16th. Put in quietly and pleasantly at Daytona, which is a mighty attractive place. Mr. Rodman, Henry’s uncle, was most kind in every way. Hired bicycles and rode to Ormond Daytona Beach, which is a wonder. Saw flying machines taking up passengers at $25.00 each, and we envied the rich. H. showed signs of having a brain, for after discussing the rather tedious proposition of pushing, pulling, and hauling old Mascot further south through the mud and sand, he suggested taking the launch and making a dash for the pole. That sounded good to me, so we built a framework of boards along the rail of the launch to carry our dunnage and after sawing off the legs of two chairs bolted them to the thwarts. It made a funny looking ferryboat, but I believe if we strike good camping weather and sprinkle lots of carpet tacks about to keep the alligators and Seminoles away o’nights, we may have a mighty good time with sporting element not lacking, which would certainly be the case in Mascot. Plan to sew spinnaker into some form of tent to be set up with oars and boat hook. Letter from John Bullard says Jack Reynolds is reporting Scotty as dead. What do you make of that? He must be trying to manipulate the market and selling short. Spent all one evening trying to define what I mean by the word “sport” and sifted it down to this:
Sport
The pursuit of pleasurable occupation which requires exposure to weather, exercise of all bodily muscles, judgment, skill of hand, foot and eye; never to be followed without a degree of personal risk. Under such classification I put
Sailing of boats,