March 17-19. We lay out a heavy Florida norther at Cocoa, for this branch of Indian River is over 60 miles long and buttered with water only from 6 inches to 6 feet deep and it is no joke to get piled up out in the middle in a gale of wind. Morning of 19th the barometer showing symptoms of dropping I just naturally had to take a chance and was away with the first streak of light and a deluge of rain. Gee, but it did rain and it was hard work for little putt-putt to push us against sea and wind. No use looking at it any longer, however, and every mile puts us nearer home. Found ourselves short two important articles, kerosene and knitting cotton. The production of the latter in Florida is almost nil. It is quite gratifying to find we both eat more and enjoy meals aboard after five months of my cooking. To continue keeps me on my mettle and makes three meals a day less a chore. The shore grub, unless at the swell hotels is abominable, and we begrudge every cent paid for it. Wish I could get inflammation out of my eye which constantly troubles me. Rain poured steadily for three or four hours when clouds broke and we had an undeniably fair afternoon. Shook out our canvas and all the motorboats came close aboard for the “coosies” to snap pictures of us as a curiosity. Truly it seems strange to see such a sail in these diggings. Since leaving Chesapeake Bay, H. and I have not seen a bit of canvas so big. We left that much overrated Indian River through the very attractive Haul Over Cut and successfully negotiated the shallows of Mosquito Lagoon. Night caught us just above Eldora and in sight of the strange Indian shell mound. Mosquitos caught us, too, swarms and clouds of them. We drove them from the cabin with Japsticks and our nettings working finely we had most comfortable night with air quite fit to breathe.
March 20th. A good morning and we were off by seven. I came below to write this foolish tale and we have been going aground constantly ever since. Have had to push, poke, pull and shift ballast. Under these conditions, this being an author is some job. At this moment I am covered with blue mud and “skeetie” bites. Oh, you dear old Florida, how we love you. There she goes jumping bottom again. Pulled into Daytona about 3:30 and anchored off Yacht Club. Air fresher here and my eye mending up nicely.
March 21st. Comes southerly. Beautifully fair. The glass is on up-jump, however, and great tumbling masses of squall cloud are hanging near southern horizon. Twice we have seen easterly weather forecasted by just such conditions and we both remarked the fact. H. to masthead where he replaced topping-lift block band and riveted it solidly. Then on bicycles along Daytona’s wonderful beach to Clarendon Hotel, a very good and new shop but a robber’s roost. Here we disported ourselves in the ocean nit. We each took a warm tub and soap. Then a nice cold lunch in a cool, shady little grill-room where the constant slamming of a screen door disturbed seemingly nobody but me. I must be very queer. Then home quick, quick, on account of rain squalls all about. Provisioned up; went to P. O., and as we came on street again we saw the very meanest of looking clouds banking up at northard and eastward. It was hurry to wharf, into launch and off on board. The wind broke before we reached Mascot and we caught her on the fly and hung on. Threw stuff on board, scrabbled after it and to cover just as the sheeting rain and wind tore down river. There it was again at east just what doctor said in the morning. Things cleared away to a lovely, calm evening and we went on shore to walk by moonlight under the palms. The people all out on streets after the shower just like toads at home.
March 22nd. As fair as can be with light airs at northeast. Could wish them at southwest. Away with kicker at eight and had truly a devil’s own time getting up to Ormond. Ran repeatedly hard aground and had vexatious time shifting ballast, pushing and pulling, but there is no better training for business troubles than a cruise in these waters, and H. is getting his. Said good-bye at last to the broad reaches of Halifax River and entered the narrow and palm bordered upper branches. Came to and passed the drawbridge which you have to open and close yourself. Then on and on down seemingly endless stretches of canal. When we passed over it before we plugged straight into the eye of a strong southwester and consoled ourselves with the thought of booming back with sheets broad off, but no such luck for wind held brisk at northeast and we had the kicker on all day. It was a good day, however, for the air was fresh and cool from the sea and the sun bright and warm at our backs. My eye, much mended, gave me little trouble and everything O.K. At night a few miles south of Matanzas Inlet we anchored bow and stern for a quiet night and finished up our day with a supper of strawberry jam pandowdies. Not restaurant ones, but the kind when you cut them the butter and jam squidge out both ends.
March 23rd. Beautiful morning with air still hanging at northeast. Away down canal by eight. Crossed Matanzas Inlet and met such a strong tide we had to clap sail on her to stem it. On through the marshes, avoiding by luck and chance all of the flatgrounds which hung us up so long and hard on way down. At one o’clock we sailed through the St. Augustine drawbridge and came to anchor off the wharves. Last evening the big black spider paid the cabin another visit but we were up and ready and H. swatted him deado. To help us on the way down we had the story of the Inside Route published in the “Rudder.” It is fairly well done and helped us a lot. The author evidently never thought a man once down the East Coast would ever try to come back again, so there is no reverse to the yarn, and complications are fearful. We have tried all ways including upside down, looking glass, etc., etc., but before H. can find where we are in the story, it’s all off and we are high and dry in reality. Things thickened up during afternoon and had I been bound around the Cape, I sure would have stayed in Vineyard Haven. Glass way up to 30.2 and the squall hit about eight o’clock just as I was knitting comfy. Mascot in the sharp running tide began cutting pigeon wings at once. She is sure a very slippery piece of wood either under way or at anchor. Bang and more bang. On deck in pouring rain and smartish breeze to find us most strenuously ramming the stern of the big houseboat Swordfish. Got our anchor and also very wet. Tried to find a good big space for Mascot to play in but wind and tide were too much for putt-putt and after ingloriously turning round and round several times, we dropped hook in time to save running into a wharf. Squall blew out in little while and we turned in for peaceful night.
March 24th. Bright and fair. Ashore early for provisions and away with sail and kicker to the northward. This is a chance and must drive her a little. Put canvas to her and with freshening southeast trade drove her mile after mile at steamboat speed. Ran into canal and here the wind, whiffling over tree-tops and high banks, produced such wonderful and unexpected jibes that, to save the spars we had to douse the canvas. With a fair tide we legged it fast and about 4 p.m. shot out into St. John’s River and then into Sestor Creek where we soon passed oyster bar on which we spent a night coming down. Then troubles began and we ran ashore so many times in the next mile that we plugged ourselves all out at the push hole and anchored her stem and stern for the night.
March 25th. Off to a good start with breeze hauling to the southwest and blowing most viciously. Set a goose wing to help her up the bends of the snake-like little river and stormed on through the marsh which is as brown as when we came down, although there is much new leaf on the trees that makes good color. We had to make a board into the wind’s eye before shooting out into Nassau Sound and when I brought her to it she just whirled round and ran back up creek. I tried her twice but like a colt at a steam roller she would have none of it and we had to jump the two-reefed canvas on her. “Youse all” just ought to have been on the beach and seen that little shippy work up that narrow reach, tack for tack like on parade. On her ear with no ballast, and a chicken stew lashed to the stove pipe she certainly cut out some turkey trots. Never was such a little vessel. Built on honor out of oak just like old Mizpah. The most wonderful thing that I should have owned and sailed the four best boats in the world this last thirty-five years.
We bruised that Nassau Sound water scandalously and fairly boiled into the stream beyond. Kept the two reefs on her only settling peak for several sporting jibes. Had Fernandina in sight when we nicked a bend and piled her way up. Tide was falling and it meant quick work. It seems to me sometimes as if H. stopped to think, and there ain’t no time for thinking when you’re high and dry with half a gale pushing you on harder and tide running out from under. I guess I talked some quick and sharp before I got that sail down, her head pushed round, sail hoisted on other tack and dragged her into the channel. I apologized all handsome, however, and we are still on friendly terms. Ran up to wharf at Fernandina about 2 p.m. and have again doubled on our time down.