A BAPTIZING ON THE SUWANEE RIVER.
The flow from Silver Spring is so great that a deep river one hundred feet wide is formed, which, after a course of nine miles, joins the Ocklawaha. This stream is called the Run, and a little launch, or tug, plies over this short course, carrying visitors on an excursion which, if brief, is incomparably delightful. Five miles from Silver Spring is Ocala, on the Florida Southern Railroad, to which point we proceeded, and thence north and west by the Savannah, Florida and Western, and the Florida Central and Peninsular railroads to New Orleans. Ocala is on the border or north limit of the hummock lands, and thereafter the journey was through pine-barrens which are so infested with dwarf palmetto that it appears to be an impossible labor to clear it away. This is the home of the deer and likewise of the rattlesnake, very monsters of the latter being more plentiful than game; but north of Gainesville the country presents a change for the better, being much higher and undulating, with hills that are 300 or 400 feet above the ocean level, and the soil is exceedingly fertile. The vegetation, too, loses its tropical character, orange groves disappear, and fields of tobacco and cotton occupy the landscape.
At High Springs we crossed the Santa River, a tributary of the Suwanee; at New Bradford we touched the banks of that historic river, and at Ellaville crossed the stream and halted there a day to pay to it the tribute of a respect aroused in every American heart by Foster’s mournful pastorale, “The Old Folks at Home.” Who has not heard “Way down upon the Suwanee River”? and who hearing the song has not tried to picture the desolate plantation and the dreary heart that went up and down the solitudes of the deserted cotton-field sighing for the old massa and missus, who will never call for Pompey again? In a small boat we rowed down the river, which was as still as death, and almost as motionless. The faint sound of a saw-mill at Ellaville was the only thing that gave reminder of our proximity to civilization; and when at length even this link was broken by distance, it seemed as if all creation had gone into mourning. The spell, while mournful, was yet dreamily charming, and instinctively, under the influence of such lonesome isolation, we sang with the fullness of appreciation, “The Old Folks at Home.” Never before had song such sweetness, never had one so much of sadness, to me; and when the last note died away there was a feeling of oppression in the silence that ensued. The old song brought up visions to which we were unused: a fallow-field where once was bounty; a large white mansion with its long porch fallen in decay; a magnolia-tree with a mocking-bird’s deserted nest ready to fall from its dead branches; two grave-stones, green with moss, in the pasture, and an old darkey bowed in prayer. The Suwanee has its source in Okefenokee Swamps, Georgia, and after running its course of nearly three hundred miles, empties into the Gulf of Mexico, just above Cedar Key. At some places the river has considerable width, but never sufficient depth to permit of navigation by any craft of considerable size. Its banks are occasionally high, as at Ellaville, but generally they are flat and overhung by oaks thickly festooned with moss. The current is sluggish and the water seldom clear, carrying as it does a thick vegetable solution. The stream is neither beautiful nor romantic, save as it acquires the reputation for being both through the song that has made it as famous as our largest rivers.
A SECTION OF BIENVILLE PARK, MOBILE, ALABAMA.
The country about Ellaville is fairly well settled, though the place itself hardly ranks as a hamlet. We arrived on Saturday, and as no trains run on Sunday we were compelled to remain over, and attended church in the forenoon and witnessed a baptizing later in the day. The administration of the ceremony proved to be a great event in the unruffled lives of the people, and many came long distances to witness the immersion of four candidates, three women and a man. The sight of a baptizing, while common enough, possessed for us unusual interest because the place was Suwanee River, and having the consent of the officiating minister, we took a photograph of the crowd on shore, a heavy cloud overcasting the sun immediately after, so that a picture could not be made of the baptizing. From Ellaville our journey was continued westward through Tallahassee and on to Mobile, where a short stop was made, and thence to New Orleans. Mobile is not only one of the oldest towns in the South, but is among the earliest settlements in America, the exact date of its founding being in dispute. The place is known to have been the original seat of the French colonization in the Southwest as early as 1702, but its growth was so slow that the Colonial Government was transferred to New Orleans in 1723, and with the change, the little importance which it had acquired became lost, nor was it again recovered until the place became a rendezvous for corsairs under the infamous Lafitte, from 1810 to 1815. Its greatest prosperity, however, dates since the civil war, though some years preceding that troublous period Mobile had become a considerable port, her chief shipments being cotton, coal, lumber and naval stores.
AVENUE OF TOMBS IN WASHINGTON CEMETERY, NEW ORLEANS.