In spite of the beauty of the country, there is a sense of desolation about the wilder parts of Florida. The great trees, covered with moss, and many of them going to decay; the dull, sluggish rivers with slow discolored current, the low lands never rising above a shell-mound of twenty feet height, combine to produce a feeling of dreary solitude. This was particularly noticeable on the journey to and from Florida, through the endless swamps, marshes, and reedy islands, which border the narrow inland passages, and was only occasionally broken by passing a town, or one of the few country seats that are to be found on the unhealthy shores. Nor do there seem to be many water fowl on the Southern Atlantic Coast, until you pass to the south of St. Augustine and reach the neighborhood of Indian River. In making the trip to and from the St. John’s, we only saw, beside the ducks and English snipe the bay-birds, of which I have spoken, and a number of the handsome and imposing white herons. These stood in solemn grandeur on the shore of some creek, and seemed too glorious to shoot. Occasionally, however, we could not resist, and had to murder them for their loveliness. Then one of us would hide himself among the reeds on the shore, while the other would go to the extreme end of the line of stately creatures, and put them up. They fly slowly along the edge of the water, and if the sportsman is well hid, there is no difficulty in getting a shot at them. They should never be killed, unless it is to set them up and preserve them, as was done for us by the Doctor.
In Lake George there were millions of mullets jumping continually out of water, like dancing silver arrows, they would not take the fly, or trolling spoon, and as we had all the fish we could use, we did not try the net. We visited a splendid spring, called by a name which seems to be given by common consent to most of the sulphur springs of Florida, that of “silver.” It empties into the lake on the western side, about half way down. A bank of snail shells, which must have been cast up by the waves, marks the outlet. Many of them are in good
WILD TURKEY TRAP
preservation, and quite pretty. Several sorts of fish were swimming hither and thither in the spring, and the stream from it was filled with a thin green moss, which the ladies converted into a becoming head covering, and dubbed the “mermaid’s wig.” We saw some big turtles and alligators and enjoyed a bath.
It was not safe to take the yacht through the narrow and crooked river above Lake George, if we were to limit ourselves in the remotest degree to time, for none but free winds would move us either one way or the other, so we had to leave our pleasant aquatic mansion and descend to the humdrum of the little stern wheel steamers, which were continually passing us, and throwing up fountains of water from their latter ends. By the same means we explored the Ocklawaha, which falls into the St. John’s further north. The vessels are adapted to winding round through the circuitous bends of the streams, where the trees nearly meet overhead. In order to see their way, the pilots have to build fires of pine knots at night on the top of the pilot house, which gives a peculiarly romantic and interesting appearance to the scene. On the way we saw no end of alligators and forest birds, especially the famous Limpkin, which laughed, yelled and jeered at us in the security of a regulation which forbids the discharge of fire arms on board the boats.
But we had to be getting back, if we were to complete our explorations of the rest of Florida, so as soon as we could finish our steamboat travel, we hurried down stream once more to Jacksonville. The run outside to St. Augustine is not a long one, but this coast is more dangerous than that further north. An easterly wind strikes it more heavily, and the inlets are shoal. Especially is this the case in the long run below Matanzas and Mosquito Inlets. In fact I cannot do better than quote the words of a report on the inland navigation of that section, kindly furnished me by Mr. J. E. Hilgard, the efficient Superintendent of the United States Coast Survey, to whom I am under many obligations for information and advice:
“There is no inland passage from the St. John’s to St. Augustine. You must cross St. John’s bar (with eight feet mean low water), but must take a pilot, as the channel is constantly shifting and changing in depth. On the whole, I would advise taking a smooth time at St. Mary’s and going outside all the way to St. Augustine. There is excellent anchorage off Old Fernandina (but a short distance from the bar); and the whole run is but about fifty miles, and can be made in a few hours.