While in Florida, if tourists wish for a variety, let them travel up the
meandering course of that peculiar stream, the Ocklawaha. There is no
signaling here, as at other rivers in the State, for fossilized
Spaniards to take us over the bars. After describing a triangle, we
enter its dark waters without obstacle or interruption, when our steamer
glides along easily, if not quickly, as a Florida sun behind the
horizon.
The Ocklawaha is the largest tributary of the much-admired St. John's
River. It is only from fifty to seventy-five feet in width at any point,
and navigable all seasons of the year. Its banks are lined with "forests
primeval," while its crooked course can only be traced by a seat upon
the decks of its steamers. The banks are low, with an occasional bluff,
accompanied by a wildness of scenery not so unvaried as to become
monotonous. The river runs through heavily-timbered lands, consisting of
sweet-gum, sweet-bay, and live-oak, from which hangs a drapery of long
moss so dense it is only visited by zephyr breezes. The swaying of this
pendant growth appears like the movements of magic, preparing a
revelation from the secret abodes of wood-nymphs, or a _début_ from the
weird form of some dark-eyed Indian maid.
The cypress-trees grow here to the height of two hundred feet, some of
them being twenty-four in circumference, and eight feet through at the
base. From this kind of timber spars for vessels are made, which excel
in durability any other in use.
The trees on the banks are set closely as a cane thicket, thus obscuring
all view of the surrounding country as effectually as if it were a
thousand miles distant. It is to this point the sportsman resorts to
indulge his propensity for killing birds, which sing songs of joy as we
pass; but when wounded, their helpless bodies fall into the turbid
waters--the last that is seen of them being a fluttering pinion,
signaling their sinking condition, with no one to pity or rescue. The
click of the rifle is heard on every side from the hands of passengers,
with the exciting remark: "O there is another alligator! Sight him
quick! Kill him!" Although this seems to be great sport for the
huntsman, it is not always death to the game.
As we approach the source of the river the scenery is constantly
changing, like a kaleidoscopic view, and although it is mid-winter the
river-banks are lined with flowers in full bloom, as though Jack Frost
was not abroad with his withering breath, and had killed many of their
companions far away, and buried them under his white covering, bound
with icy fetters.
Among the most conspicuous plants which we see now is the aster,
climbing twenty or thirty feet, forming bowers filled with blooms,
supported by woody stems, sending forth their fragrance to gladden the
senses of those who love perfumery made in nature's laboratory.
The water-lily, enthroned on her emerald seat, sits like a queen,
spreading a snowy crown in every quiet corner of the stream; while the
air-plants, with a more ambitious turn, are clinging to the trees, with
their pink petals bursting into bloom, as the wild oranges and scarlet
berries combined form a panorama which creates new-born emotions of
happiness in the minds of all who look on their beauties and retain in
imagination their charms.
Captain Rice, who has charge of the steamer Okahumkee, is the alpha and
omega of the inhabitants on this river. He supplies all their wants,
makes all their contracts, and sells all their produce. The men expect
him to furnish them with whatever they need, from a sugar-mill to a plug
of tobacco. From this portion of the country are shipped sea-island
cotton, moss, oranges, vanilla, chickens, and eggs. These are sold in
Jacksonville to obtain their family supplies. The Captain goes shopping
for the young ladies, buys their pin-backs, tilters, face-powder, and
sometimes snuff--for their mothers only! For these numerous services he
rarely ever receives any thing but a smile! No wonder the man looks
thin, fed on such intangible substance!
Orange Springs, thirty-five miles from the mouth of the river, is our
first landing-place. This was formerly a resort for invalids, on account
of the mineral properties contained in the water. Here we witnessed an
affectionate meeting between a husband and wife. The lady had just
returned from Jacksonville on the steamer. When she stepped on shore,
and saw her husband waiting for her, she threw her arms around his neck
and cried. Some of the experienced passengers said she wept because she
thought of all that old fat bacon she would have to eat after feasting
so high in Jacksonville.
A log is something which our boat appears to understand. It leaps over
at a single bound, then goes crashing against the large limbs, which
sounds like the rattling of musketry, or crashing of a cyclone.
We met a lady on board who, since her last visit up the Ocklawaha, has
been deprived of her hearing. Not aware of the great change through
which she had passed, she quietly inquired if the obstructions had not
all been removed from the river. The sound, then, of big limbs rasping
across the boat, which had been crushed by coming in contact with it,
resembled thunder. The Captain changed his seat very suddenly to go
forward, while the passengers were all busy looking after birds and
alligators; but no one asserted that navigation was without impediments,
so far as last heard from. "Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be
wise."
On this river is the home of the genuine crackers. You can see them come
to the steamer when it lands; and clever people they are, too. They
appear to come from nowhere, their first appearance being on a _bateau_,
or little platform, by the river-banks, where are seen standing
specimens of humanity so thin a musquito would be doing a bad business
in trying to obtain sustenance from their bloodless bodies.
Hoping that the mind of the public may be relieved of the impression
that a kind of hybrid bipeds circulate through the South entirely
unknown in other localities, called crackers, I herewith append a
description of the Northern crackers, in connection with our Southern
product, taken from my own observation.
[Illustration: PLEASURE-RIDING IN A CRACKER CART.]
From the Alleghany Mountains of Pennsylvania to the sands of Florida
there exists a certain class of the _genus homo_, defined by different
names, but possessing traits of character nearly allied, called in the
North "the lower class," in the South "crackers." In the Northern States
these poor, uneducated creatures ruminate without restraint. The
localities they prefer are removed from the principal towns and cities.
During the summer they spend a portion of the season in raising a little
corn and potatoes, together with other "garden sass," which is consumed
by their numerous families to sustain them during the cold winter
weather. The little attention this crop receives is when they are not
working out as the hired help, in assisting their neighbors through
"hayin' and harvestin', or diggin' taters." Many of them never "hire
out," but subsist entirely by hunting, fishing, or gathering berries,
for which pursuits their wild natures and unsettled habits well adapt
them. They excel in the piscatorial profession, studying the habits of
the finny tribe during their various stages, together with their times
of ascending and descending the streams. Sometimes the city folks come
out to spend a few days with tent and reels, which movement these
self-constituted sovereigns of the soil regard as a direct innovation of
their rights; and if the supposed intruders escape without their tent
being burned, or their clothes stolen, during the day when they are
absent, it may be regarded as a fortunate circumstance. Many of these
"lower class" specimens of humanity cannot read or write, while those
who can do not often imbibe orthodox opinions in their religious
belief, but embrace theories mapped out by New England fanatics, upon
which they try to make an improvement during the cold winter days when
they cannot be "stirrin' out doors." If a thaw comes they hunt deer and
other wild game, which is bartered for groceries. Hogs with them, as
most other people, are an important item for winter food. These animals
manage to live tolerably well during the summer on grass, besides
occasionally breaking into a neighbor's field of corn or potatoes, and
fattening in the autumn on wild mast, which is plentiful.
This "lower class" have never been credited with being strictly honest,
and frequently a stray sheep, calf, or turkey, makes an important
addition to the family larder, which is eaten by all without any
scruples, no questions being asked. Generosity cannot be classed among
their virtues. If a benevolent impulse ever forces its way into their
stingy souls, it is soon frozen out for want of sustenance. Never a
weary wanderer rests upon their beds, or is fed from their table, unless
pay is expected for it, nor a drop of milk given to pleasure-excursionists
without collection on delivery. Their clothes are made mostly of wool,
it being a home product, and the winters so severe they are obliged to
be protected. The "wimmen folks" weave the cloth, then color it blue or
red, and when the garments are made they are worn through all
seasons--in winter to keep out the cold, and in summer the heat. There
is no changing of raiment, nor any record kept of the time each garment
is worn, it being only removed when patching becomes necessary, and a
Joseph's coat among them is not an uncommon sight. They are not
remarkable for their powers of articulation, but communicate with a
peculiar twang through their noses, as though that was the design of the
organ. Cow is pronounced as though it was spelled "keow;" how, "heow."
"Awful" is their principal adjective, upon which they ring changes at
all times: "Awful mean!" "Awful good!" Conversation through the nose for
the old women is a difficult experiment, as they deposit large
quantities of snuff in that organ, whether for disease, or to fill a
vacuum in their _crania_, has never been determined, but it is really a
most disgusting and filthy practice to witness.
The above is a correct description of the Northern crackers, of which
some scribblers seem to have lost sight in their unfeeling efforts to
abuse the South, and impress the world with the idea that crackers and
poor whites are entirely of Southern origin, and only found in that
locality, they being the outgrowth of a slave oligarchy.
That indigenous class of persons called Southern crackers receive names
according to their locality. In South Carolina and South Georgia they
are called "Poor Buckra," and in Florida "Sand Lappers," or "Crackers."
The Florida crackers are supposed to be named from the facility with
which they eat corn, it being their chief article of diet, while some
few contract the habit of dirt-eating, and have been named "Sand
Lappers."
The true derivation of cracker, notwithstanding all the evidence given
before on the subject, is the original word for Quaker, which in Spanish
is _cuacero_, first changed into _cuaker_ by the English, and again into
cracker. From this we may learn that neither cattle-whips nor
corn-cracking had any thing to do with the naming of these people.
These crackers have few local attachments; moving twice in a year does
not inconvenience them; indeed, no earthly state of existence can be
imagined freer from care and less fraught with toil than the one they
lead. When settled, they are not fastidious about their habitations, as
the mild climate does not require close quarters; a good shelter will
subserve their purpose. Like birds of the air, they only want a
roosting-place when night overtakes them. Their houses are mostly made
of logs, notched to fit at the corners, the floors being oftentimes of
earth, but usually boards sawed by hand. These tenements are scoured
once a week, when the beds are sunned, and every thing turned out. The
men are not always dressed in "store-clothes," with a corresponding
outfit, but usually country-made cotton home-spun. The genuine cracker
wears a broad-brimmed hat, braided from palmetto, a brown-jean coat and
breeches, a deer-skin vest with the fur left on, and a pair of stout,
useful cow-skin boots, or shoes. He supports a very unkempt mustache and
whiskers, before which a Broadway dandy would shrink with the most
intense disgust. This natural growth obscures a mouth well filled with
teeth, which were nature's gift, and the handiwork of no dentist--from
whence is kept a constant ejecting of tobacco juice. He always has a
body-guard of dogs whenever and wherever you find him, the number
varying according to his condition in life--the poorer the man, the
larger the number of canines. These animals are very thin, whether from
a deficiency in their master's larder, or the constant rambling life
they lead, has not been exactly determined. Around his master's neck is
suspended a flask of shot and powder-horn, while in his hands is a rifle
named "Sure-fire," which he says was never known to flicker, warranted
to bring down any game within a range of two hundred yards, running or
flying. These people, like the patriarchs of old, have large families,
which require about the same attention as puppies or kittens. When night
comes the children curl up in almost any corner to sleep, and at dawn of
day, when the early songsters dash the dew-drops from the grass and
flowers, they are out hunting for berries, or watching the birds
building their nests, that they may know where to find the eggs, in
which enterprise they are experts.
The cracker has a hearty welcome for the stranger, which puts the blush
of contempt upon those claiming a much higher degree of civilization.
Every thing the house contains is free to visitors. Although the bill of
fare bears no resemblance to the St. James Hotel or Carleton House in
Jacksonville, yet quantity will make up for quality. Chickens are always
killed for company, without counting the number of Christmas holidays
they have seen. Your plate is piled with sweet potatoes and corndodger
bread, or ash-cake, to be washed down with strong coffee, which they
always manage to keep on hand for special occasions. The old folks are
very attentive; but where are the children? Run away like wild rabbits.
They are out taking a view of the company. Watch, and you will soon see
curious little eyes looking through the cracks, or slipping around the
corners. These crackers are a very communicative class of persons,
always full of information pertaining to Florida, and as ready to talk
as a freshly-wound, well-regulated Yankee clock to keep time. The father
of the family is called "dad," the mother "mam." The husband speaks of
his wife as "the old woman," the wife says "old man," while the children
are always called girls and boys. Women among no class of people in the
South, however poor, are ever called "heifers," as one Northern writer
has represented, unless by their conduct they are lost both to virtue
and shame. The cracker exercises his prudential care by always keeping
hogs. It is the main support of the family; and these razor-backed
tourists are constantly going on voyages of discovery, either by land or
sea. They often excite the sympathies of visitors on account of their
thin bodies, but they possess more self-sustaining qualities than those
who are sorry for them, showing what hogs can do as well as people, when
thrown on their own resources. The sea-shore swine, which receive
sustenance from the beach, can feed twice in twenty-four hours, when the
tide recedes, and no depleted stores tell the amount of fish, oysters,
and other marine morsels, which are deposited within their bony frames.
The above is a true statement in regard to the Southern crackers, which
excites the commiseration of so many people who know nothing about them,
and would, no doubt, be greatly benefited by reserving their concern for
themselves, remembering, "Where little is given, little is required."
Civilization has commenced making its mark on the Ocklawaha, and the
march of improvement, which never tires in its efforts, is leaving its
foot-prints here. These new developments are visible from the various
landings which the steamer makes, as it advances through the rapid
current. In order to effect a landing, the bow of the craft is run
against the shore, when the command is given by the Captain, with as
much authority as though a ship from England had arrived on foreign
shores, "Make fast!" This order is executed by putting a hawser an inch
in circumference around a stake driven in the ground. Here are two cords
of wood waiting to be loaded, called in cracker vernacular "light-wood,"
filled with turpentine, from which the article of commerce is
manufactured. The vender of this commodity is on shore, waiting for an
opportunity to dispose of his pile when "the charcoal sketches" commence
"wooding-up."
Nearly all the passengers improve the time by taking a walk on shore to
see the country while the hands on board are working. A countryman is
trying to sell a bear-skin to some of the crowd. These Floridians always
ask more than they can get, to see what visitors will stand.
The sun has set, and we are now entering upon a night of darkness, in a
wilderness of leaves and blooms, on the water, near thickets where the
hungry wolf lurks for his prey, and the bear growls from his covert of
security; where the wild deer nips the grass and feasts from herbage
green, frequenting haunts where the hounds lose their trail, and the
foot of the civilized hunter has never trod. A bright blaze, made from
light-wood knots, is placed in a frame on the bow of our craft, and,
like the "pillar of fire" which preceded the Israelites through the
wilderness, is our guide. Here, encircled by trees whose long limbs
overlap each other so thickly that only a glimmer of dawn is seen
through the small openings, our flame-lit craft winds up the serpentine
stream, and our night-fires send out a glare which illumines the
darkness far as the eye can see, while on the boughs above our heads in
silence sits the owl, with only an occasional "Who!" to let us know
vitality is not entirely extinct in these wilds.
[Illustration: WHO!]
The queer, dusky-looking figures, moving about with their pine torches,
flashing through the darkness, and yelling at each other in cases of
emergency, when our boat appears trying to climb a tree, remind us of
the historic plutonian regions. As we glide along, our pathway is marked
by volumes of pyrotechnic showers more numerous and brilliant than can
be conceived, which burst from the smoke-stacks, and fall on the water
before they are extinguished. Phantom-like we move, while weird forms
retire before us, but still clinging to our boat as the connecting-link
between civilized and savage life, a thoughtless move from it in any
direction being a dangerous and hazardous experiment.
Every landing has its name, kept up as a mark of distinction by the
boatmen and settlers, but unknown to history.
[Illustration: text decoration]