Our patriarch host had been a captain in the rebel army until he had his "belly full of fight," as he quaintly termed it. His wife had blest him with an even score of boys and girls, all now living in this delightful climate, where he said, "no one ever died; they simply dried up and blowed away into the happy hunting-grounds beyond the stars." When a baby was born or a child married, this chief of the tribe "hitched on" another house, until now the one-story dwellings covered an acre of his vast lands.
He and his tribe raised on his great farm here in Bradford County everything he needed to eat, drink, or to wear: his wife and daughters spun and wove their clothing from the cotton grown and ginned on his own fields; the delicious syrup and sugar which adorned and sweetened the mountains of rye pancakes and floods of home-raised coffee, was made from the cane which was grown, and ground on his own soil. He grew his own tobacco, tea, peanuts, oranges, figs, pineapples, bananas; he fattened his cattle and hogs on his own cassava and the abundant wild grasses; his flocks of sheep "cut their own fodder," and the wool and mutton was all clear profit. This "Cracker" family was the happiest and most independent I ever saw on earth.
All around this plantation are millions of uncultivated acres where the wretches of our city slums could be equally happy if our Carnegies and Rockefellers would only loan the funds to colonize them there. The millions of dollars, now worse than wasted by our selfish millionaires? could thus soon make this earth a paradise like to that above. After enjoying this free delightful life for several days, and we were on the point of departing, I said to our host, "Captain, we have enjoyed your hospitality immensely, and I hope you will allow me to reciprocate," holding toward him a bank-note.
Instantly his eyes flashed angry fire, he shot out his fist to strike me, when a neighbor said, "Don't hit him Cap, he don't know no better, he's a Yank." "Wall Yank," drawled this six feet of fighting man, "seein' ye don't know no better, I'll let ye off this time; but I don't keep no tarvern, and when me and my family come yure way, we'll all stop with yew, that'll even it up." As I looked at the fifty yawning caverns of chewing mouths, and reflected upon the cost of feeding them in Boston for even one day, I thanked God that I had not given him my card, and we rode away amid ear-splitting cheers and waving of hands, each one of which resembled in size the tail-board of a coal-cart.
On another occasion while scouring the Florida country for lands for colonizing purposes in company with a native, the night caught us in the dense forest; our horses stumbled over immense fallen trees, the owls hooted, the wild cats screamed, the thunder roared, occasionally a pine fell splintered by the lightning, the rain fell in torrents, and we seemed destined to shiver all the long black hours supperless and comfortless, when our eyes were greeted by the cheerful light shining through the open door of a log hut; a dozen curs gave tongue and went for our legs till a sharp yell from within sent them yelping away. A genuine Cracker appeared, and seeing our dripping forms in the electric flash, he quietly said, "Lite strangers, lite, jest in time, plenty of hog and hominy." He led our tired steeds into the leanto, fed them, and ushered us into his one-room shanty, where his lank wife and a dozen children silently made room for us around a rough board table. "Mother," said the master, "more hoe-cake, more bacon," and the obedient woman "slapped" a lot of corn dough on to the blade of a common hoe which a girl held over the "fat-wood" fire until it browned; another tossed some smoked hog into an suspicious looking skillet, and soon, in spite of the slovenly cooking, we "fell to" in a desperate attempt to smother the gnawing pangs of a long-suffering appetite. Then we told all the stories we could recall or invent to satisfy the starving intellects of these lonesome denizens of the wild wood. "Come, chilluns, to bed," said our host, and they were all stacked one over the other on the one corn-shuck couch where a chorus of snores proved they were in the land of dreams.
Our host relapsed into silence and seemed to be pondering some profound problem in his mind; but suddenly blurted out, "Strangers, reckon ye haint gut any of the rale critter, have ye? no corn juice pison nor nuthin'? reckon I was born dry!" My guide in reply produced a long flat bottle of about his own size, and passed it with "try that Kunnel." There was a sound of mighty gurgling long drawn out, but finally the huge demijohn was reluctantly withdrawn from his cavernlike mouth with a joyous "Ah, that's the rale stuff, have some mother? The woman removed the snuff rag from her gums long enough to drain the dregs, and presto! they beamed upon us like twin suns.
"Strangers," ejaculated this typical Cracker, "this is the dog-gondest place ter git er drink yer ever seed. Aour caounty went dry last 'lection, and tother day er went to the spensary ter git sum fire-water er thinkin we mought be sick er sunthin, ther wouldn't let me hev it 'thout Doc's 'scripshun—went to Doc, wouldn't give me 'scripshun 'thout snake-bite er sunthin—went ter only snake er knowed on fer a bite, und the dog-goned critter sed all his bites wuz spoke for three weeks ahed. Dunno what ud er dun if you uns hedn't cum erlong. Naouw, strangers, you take aour bed, we sleep on floo."
Then he took the "kids" one by one, and set them up with their backs to the side of the shanty, and we, not daring to beard the lion in his den by declining, obeyed. The next morning we found ourselves set up alongside the children on the floor, while the old man and his wife were snoring on the bed. Verily, "For ways that are dark and tricks that are vain, the heathen 'Cracker' is peculiar."