In the Wilds of Florida: A Tale of Warfare and Hunting

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“How will you ever get hold of these fellows?” asked Carlos, as the skipper was preparing to shove off in the boat, armed with his harpoon.

“You shall see,” he answered.

Tim and I took the oars, Carlos steered, and Lejoillie, note-book in hand, was ready to jot down his remarks.

Scarcely a minute had elapsed after leaving the side of the vessel, when the skipper told us to pull in the direction he pointed, while he stood in the bows of the boat, holding a single-pronged harpoon in his hand. He had seen a turtle floating just below the surface. Almost the next instant the weapon darted with tremendous force from his hand. To the harpoon a line had been attached, which had been carefully coiled away in the bows. This quickly ran out until the huge loggerhead turtle which had been struck reached the bottom, when we hauled taut the line and belayed it. We now sat quietly waiting until the turtle should be compelled to rise to the surface to breathe. About twenty minutes passed, when, as it came up, the skipper hurled another weapon into its body. Now began the tug of war. The turtle went rushing backwards and forwards, sometimes sinking, sometimes rising, the skipper taking care to keep the line over the bows, for had it slipped to the side, we should have been capsized in a moment so tremendous were the jerks the creature gave.

For nearly an hour the struggle continued, until the turtle gave in, when, passing a rope round one of its flippers to prevent its sinking, we towed it alongside the schooner. The turtle, however, was not dead. As we hoisted it on board, by means of the windlass and a couple of tackles fastened to a rope secured round its flippers, its huge jaws, large enough to bite a man in two, opened and shut, biting furiously at everything near it. We calculated that the monster weighed fully six hundred pounds.

We afterwards killed a hawks-bill turtle and two small green turtles, the flesh of which was kept for the cabin table. The meat was preserved by being cut up into slices and hung in the rigging to dry in the sun. After this we had turtle-soup, and turtle-steaks, and turtle-hash, until we agreed that we should infinitely prefer some slices of mutton.

It was extraordinary to observe what tenacity of life was exhibited by the turtles. For some time after the head was cut off it would snap at everything near it. Even the tail wriggled about after it was severed from the body. Captain Crump gravely asserted that, cut up a turtle as we might, it would not die until the moon rose. No doubt the heads still retained their muscular power until nightfall.

While in search of turtle, we pulled over a coral reef, where the water was so clear that we could see to the very bottom; and beautiful indeed was the spectacle we beheld. From the rocks grew sea-weeds of the most brilliant colours,—the peacock’s tail, sea-fan, and other lovely forms, hanging in wreaths round the holes; while shells of every variety covered the surface of the rocks, amid which appeared sponges, sea-eggs with long spines, and sea-anemones. Hither and thither darted fish of every size and hue, from huge sharks to green, red, and gold fish of the size of minnows. On the shore of an island where we landed we found an enormous number of shells of the most brilliant colours and graceful shapes, from which Lejoillie selected so many that we could scarcely carry them back to the boat.

After touching at Key West, where the United States Government has a naval station, and in the neighbourhood of which a town of some size has sprung up, we steered due north, intending to proceed to Cedar Keys, where the Great Alexander was to finish her voyage. The first place at which we were to touch was called Punta Rassa, at the mouth of the river Caloosahatchee. High up the river was Fort Myers, the most westerly of the line of forts extending across the country to keep in check the Everglade Indians.

Lejoillie proposed that we should try to make our way by these forts to the head-waters of the Saint John River, by descending which we might return to Castle Kearney. Our skipper advised us, however, not to make the attempt. He warned us that the difficulties in the way—cedar swamps, rivers, lakes, marshes, wild beasts, and savage Indians—would prove insuperable, and that we should probably never again be heard of.