The upper St. John's commences after we pass Welaka, opposite the mouth
of the Ocklawaha. Steamers leave the wharf at Jacksonville daily for
this attractive portion of the country. An early traveler thus speaks of
the wild animals he saw in this portion of the State, also the birds:
"The buffalo, the deer, the puma, and the wild cat; the bear, the wolf,
the fox, the wandering otter, the beaver, the raccoon, the opossum, and
many smaller animals; large flocks of water-fowl, the white and great
blue herons, and their allied species, in large numbers standing along
the shores; the wary turkey with his brilliant plumage; the roseate
spoon-bill, sometimes seen, and the flamingo, once a rare visitor, but
now no longer found; the wood ibis, the whooping crane, whose resonant
notes are heard far and wide; the stupid and unwary courlan, disturbing
sleep with its night-long cry; the loathsome buzzard, circling, at
times, gracefully among nobler birds, or, oftener and truer to its
nature, quarreling with its kind as it gluts itself over disgusting
food; also the snake-bird, of peculiar make and habit; the fish-hawk,
whose massive nests of sticks and moss crown many a dead and shattered
cypress; the bald eagle, soaring in the upper atmosphere, or robbing,
in mid-air, the fish-hawk of its prize; the migratory birds, collecting
in thousands for their journey northward; the alligator, drifting lazily
with the current, or lying in his muddy wallow, basking in the sun."
[Illustration: THE SAURIAN.]
All of these were seen during the visit of Bartram the elder, which must
have made the St. John's one of the most beautiful and remarkable rivers
in America.
It is now February, and a soft, blue mist frequently fringes the distant
landscape, diffusing itself through the atmosphere, subduing the
dazzling sunlight, when the sky and water appear to blend in one grand
archway, like a half-veiled beauty whose charms are then most lovely.
A very happy family is on board to-day, and the lady has just remarked,
"O we have a house on the steamer, taking it up to Mellonville for us
all to live in!" She was a genuine Florida settler, who could look at
the sand and say, If it can grow such immense trees and big weeds, it
can produce food for us all to eat.
On our way we pass Lake George, eighteen miles long and ten miles wide,
which the Indians called "Little Ocean," on account of the high, swift
waves that are frequently seen here, attributable to the open country by
which it is surrounded.
Many other interesting places, where new settlers are constantly making
improvements, are seen before we arrive at Enterprise, the terminus of
navigation proper on the river, two hundred and thirty miles from St.
John's Bar. A good hotel is kept here, while sportsmen find the vicinity
attractive on account of the game and good fishing. Mellonville, on the
right bank of Lake Monroe, was named for the brave Captain Mellon, who
was killed here while at his post of duty during the Seminole war. He
was buried with the only tribute he could then receive: "A soldier's
tears and a soldier's grave."
Sulphur springs are numerous on the upper St. John's; one in the
vicinity of Lake Monroe, several hundred yards in length, while at its
source the water bubbles up like a fountain--a strong sulphurous odor
being perceptible for some distance. The frightened alligators that
retire here from their pursuers make terrible dives to hide, while in
the transparent waters fish are seen distinctly as though going through
the air. All of these upper lakes contain clear water, but none of it
very deep.
The next waters are Lake Harney and Salt Lake. These are not the
head-waters of the St. John's, but its source is farther on, down deep
in some unexplored marsh or subterranean fountain. It requires a little
patience to reach Indian River, either by rowing or overland, but
hundreds of people are going there every year. During the Florida war
the vicinity of Cypress Swamp and this river were some of the
lurking-places in which the savages intrenched themselves, and from this
point kept making incursions on the white settlements, which filled
them with constant terror for their safety. In 1839 the citizens living
in Florida prayed for peace, looked and hoped for it. They wanted rest,
that favorite position of the Grecian sculptor's statuary, and when they
thought it nearest then it receded again, flitting on the margin of
their expectations like the _ignis-fatuus_ which glimmered through the
marsh. The Everglades furnished a natural fortress for the Indians, who
were said to have been left there by General Jessup, as though one
general was more to blame than another for their presence and murderous
conduct. No confidence could be placed in the Indian promises; no
security that the settlers could sow and harvest; all pledges given by
them had been violated, and where should the line of their banishment be
drawn, which would not be crossed by the murderous Seminoles, thirsting
for human gore? Every person was indignant at the farce enacted by
General Macomb, swallowing it as a sickening dose, or an amnesty with a
cage of tigers. All projects for terminating the Indian war had failed,
and the wail of woe went through the land, while the blood of murdered
fathers, mothers, brothers, and sisters, cried for vengeance. As a
supposed last resort, the bloodhounds, which had terminated the Jamaica
war, were now sent for to Cuba by order of General Call. The Indians
waged a warfare accompanied with so many irregularities that no
tactician could designate or describe its method of attacks or retreats.
To be always in danger of falling, but not on the field, and then being
devoured by vultures, was not sought for by those who had dreamed of
gory battle-fields, as there was glory in that. Affairs with the
settlers had assumed so formidable an appearance that they did not think
it necessary to be very scrupulous about the mode by which the warfare
should be carried on against the Seminoles. Great horror was expressed
in different portions of the States on account of the bloodhounds, which
were going to "eat the papooses and squaws--then taking the 'breechless
knaves,' whose tougher fibers would only be a last resort."
In August, 1839, a battle was fought on the Caloosahatchee River,
between Colonel Harney and the Indians. All of the troops were killed
but the colonel and fourteen men. Seventeen days afterward a detachment
was sent out by General Taylor to bury the dead, when two of the missing
troops were found alive. After the fight they remained concealed during
the day in a mangrove thicket, and at night crawled to the margin of the
river and ate sea-fiddlers. They died soon after being discovered. An
Irish greyhound was also found, barely alive, which belonged to Colonel
Harney. He had stayed to watch over the remains of Major Dallam, whose
body was untouched, although the rest were much mutilated.
The following statement in regard to the Big Cypress Swamp and its
occupants in 1841 will, no doubt, be an item of unsurpassed interest to
those wishing to penetrate the Everglades, whether in imagination or
reality:
The commencement of this swamp is thirty or forty miles south of the
Caloosahatchee, extending within twenty miles of Lake Okachobee to the
Gulf. On approaching the lake it terminates in thick mangrove bushes,
uninhabitable for Indians. Between the Caloosahatchee the country is wet
pine barren, with occasionally dry islands. On the south it is bounded
by the Everglades, through which the Indians pass in canoes to the great
cooutie-grounds on the Atlantic, south of the Miami River. This is a
belt from five to eight miles in width and twenty miles long. To travel
directly through the swamp to the Everglades from Fort Keas, which is
upon the north margin, the distance is about thirty miles. Directly
south of the fort, in the heart of the swamp, is the council-ground.
South-east and south-west from this are the towns of the principal
chiefs, Sam Jones living twenty-five miles and the Prophet within two
miles of him. Trails communicate with their towns, but none with Fort
Keas, the Indians knowing that would be the first point to which the
whites would come. The entrance from the pine barrens to the swamp is
twenty miles farther south-east. Within the swamps are many high pine
islands, upon which the villages are located, being susceptible of
cultivation. Between them is a cypress swamp, with water two or three
feet deep. Many have cultivated outside toward Lake Thompson, as the
fertility of soil and sun-exposure insured better crops.
The first reliance of the Indians is on their crop--peas, pumpkins,
corn, and beans; next, roots, cooutie, and berries. They are now, in a
measure, deprived of game, the powder being retained in the hands of
their chiefs for defensive movements.
When troops are in the vicinity, they reveal their hiding-place by
firing guns, which, in a country so marshy, can be heard a great
distance. Their babies never cry when the whites are near, but, as if by
instinct, crawl away and hide in the long grass like partridges. Fish,
when the streams on the coast can be reached, afford them subsistence,
but the movements of the troops deprive them of this luxury. Among them
are a large number of horses, ponies, some hogs, and a few cattle.
The dry goods obtained from the massacre of Colonel Harney's men, and
bartered by others who obtained a large quantity, clothe them richly as
they desire. The specie has been sold, and manufactured into head-bands,
breast-plates, or gorgets and bracelets. Among those Indians I have seen
more rich ornaments than among any other Indians in Florida. Even in
this murderous and lamentable massacre, when they all stood by each
other, shoulder to shoulder, the same avarice and selfishness governed
their actions. No feeling of friendship binds them to each other but the
feudatory of Sam Jones and the necromancy of the Prophet.
There is, no doubt, much cause of dissatisfaction among them, from which
they cannot escape. Their imperious laws, if violated, is followed by
instant death, without the benefit of judge or jury. If one of their
number evinces kindness toward the whites, the Prophet visits him or
her, and, by various tricks with roots, a blow-pipe, and water,
proclaims the designs of the individual. In some cases instant death has
followed.
The Prophet is a runaway Creek, not fifty years of age. He escaped from
the Creek country six years ago, and relates a long story of bad
treatment from the whites. He has great influence over those around him,
caused by his making known the approach of troops, healing the sick,
finding game, and controlling the seasons. It is doubtful whether he has
ever been in battle. In a garrison so well regulated as the one over
which he presides, he must be of vast service, not only on account of
his pretended ability to commune with the Great Spirit who controls
their destinies, but for his happy talent as staff-officer, frequently
feeding his followers on _faith in his necromancy_, when other troops,
under similar circumstances, might demand "a more substantial article of
diet." He has sufficient tact, as a Medicine Man, to convince his
followers that he is, of necessity, a non-combatant.
Sam Jones is a distinguished Medicine Man, belonging to the Mikasukie
tribe. He has numbered four-score years, and, for his age, is strong and
active. He has great influence over his adherents, who respect his acts
and obey his mandates with a religious sense of duty. His venerable
appearance and bitter hostility to the whites have a tendency to elevate
him in the estimation of his tribe. He plans attacks, fires the first
gun, and retires to attend the wounded, leaving the head-warrior to
fight the battle. He instigated the attack on Fort Mellon, performed his
duty as head-man, and retired to execute the kind offices of his
profession. The command devolved upon Wild Cat, who continued to fight
until obliged to retire for want of ammunition.
Sam Jones says he is advanced in years; that his hair is white; that
Florida belongs to his kindred; beneath its sands lie the bones of his
people. The earth to him is consecrated; he has hallowed it with the
best blood of his braves, and while his heart beats he will maintain his
present position. His people were once numerous as the trees of the
forest; they received and welcomed the white man, who, in return for
kindness, have, it is true, extended the apparent hand of friendship,
but within its grasp the glittering blade is clutched; dark stains are
upon it, dyed by the blood of his children, who are now roaming abroad
in the land of the Great Spirit, calling upon him to avenge them. "I am
now old; in a few more moons I shall set out on the long journey; but I
will not desert the land of my fathers. Here I was born, and here I will
die!"
The hanging of Chekika and other Indians by Colonel Harney aroused the
anger of the chiefs, who have declared hostility and savage brutality to
any white man that came within their reach. Chekika was captured after
being pursued through the grass-water until exhausted. He was six feet
high, and weighed over two hundred pounds; considered the strongest man
of his tribe. "We," said Sam Jones, "give them a decent death. We shoot
them, or quietly beat out their brains with a pine-knot; never hanging
them like dogs." The Indians which Colonel Harney's men left suspended
were taken down by Sam Jones's men and buried.
The Cypress band is composed of the reckless, unbending spirits of the
Seminoles, Mikasukie, and Creek tribes. The Mikasukie are the most
numerous. They now mingle more harmoniously than at any previous period
of their history, and willingly accept all others who will subscribe to
their laws, and believe in Sam Jones as a wise man, doctor, and
prophet--one who holds communion with invisible things, and controls
their destinies. He is a skillful navigator of the Everglades; goes from
the Cypress to the Atlantic in four days; knows all the great passages,
and cultivates in their vicinity. He bestows blessings similar to the
patriarchs. He has about one hundred and fifty warriors.
Persons prowling through the Big Cypress Swamp in search of pleasure
will have some conception of the perils through which soldiers in search
of Indians had to pass.
"_Dec. 23, 1841._--The command under Major Belknap has just returned
from a scout of seven days' duration in the swamps of the Big Cypress.
The column was attacked by the foe on the 20th, who ambuscaded the trail
on which it was advancing, in a cypress swamp two feet deep with water,
when two men of the advance-guard were instantly killed. The Indians, as
usual, fled immediately beyond our reach. The camps of the hostiles were
near, and still smoking with their fires. They would, no doubt, have
been surprised and captured, but for the stupidity of a flanker, who,
being lost a few hours before, discharged his musket repeatedly--thus
alarming the enemy, only two or three miles distant. The result of this
scout has been, however, most important, in pointing out the hitherto
mysterious position of the Prophet and his party, which enables us to
entertain hopes that our forces may yet scour that country, so as to
render their submission certain, even if they should fail in any attempt
to surprise them. They have been trailed to their most favorite and
secret fastnesses, and should now be soon harassed into submission. It
is the belief of all, including some who have seen the most arduous
service in Florida, that no march in this Territory has been attended
with equal, or, at least, greater, severity than this. All pack-mules
being left behind, officers as well as men carried their rations on
their backs. The movements of the troops were amphibious rather than
otherwise--marching in mud and water more than knee-deep from morning
till night. The character given to this marvelous region of country has
not been exaggerated, so far as the condition of its swamps is
concerned. It is difficult to conceive of a region more admirably
calculated for concealment than such a mass of dense hummocks and
seemingly impenetrable swamps. Some of these waters have a perceptible
current, thus being the heads of streams rather than swamps. The ax of
the pioneer would never be attracted to this wet and mud-encircled
region, and it may be fairly presumed that, so far as a knowledge of its
topography is concerned, war has done more to expose it to our gaze than
civilization would have accomplished in a century."
_Indian River._--The following letter, dated Indian River, July 3, 1843,
will give an idea of the impressions received by tourists from this
river over thirty years since--coming to this place then being an
enterprise of too much magnitude for any one to undertake but well-armed
soldiers:
"This noble sheet of water is now constantly whitened by the sail of the
emigrant in pursuit of land, and the stillness of its solitude broken by
the splash of the oar, echoed by the merry songs of boatmen. At night
the camp-fires of the adventurers are kindled on its banks, after which
preparation is made for the evening repast, when, amid conversation and
laughing, the toils of the day are lost in sleep. Refreshment ensues,
and the morning finds them on their way, vigorous in frame and sanguine
in spirit. Game abounds on its banks--the deer break through the thick
growth on the margin of the river, and gaze with wonder at the visitors;
the curlews give their short whistle and wing their way from the near
approach of the intruders; the wild ducks, quietly feasting on the
grass, take note of your approach, perhaps, to a place of greater
security. Splash, splash goes the water. That's a mullet jumping at the
prospect of being caught by us, or perhaps exerting its utmost activity
to escape a hungry bass. If you are furnished with a harpoon or barbed
piece of iron, you can have a fine supply of fresh fish every day during
your voyage. Oysters are the staple of the stream, the banks being as
numerous as though an improvident Legislature had created them,
although they never suspend payment or protest a draft for want of
funds. The lands north and south of Fort Pierce are rapidly filling up,
and thus far, with the exposure of boating, felling timber, planting,
and the thousand troubles of an emigrant's life, the best of health is
enjoyed by all. Doctors are at a discount, and among the least useful
things on the river."
Among other local peculiarities found near the Indian River is a kind of
shell-sand, which hardens by exposure. The following is an interesting
statement, made by a member of the engineer corps, who visited there in
1858: "While we were surveying a point between the St. John's, near Lake
Harney, and Indian River, when watching the excavation of one of these
pits, I carefully rolled a ball together from what appeared to be sand
taken from the pit, and then threw it on the grass. Upon examination a
few hours afterward, it was found to be extremely hard, and the surface
covered with those minute shells, which is the principal component of
the coquina-rock. Between Musquito Lagoon and Indian River there is a
small artificial canal cut through the coquina, the portion exposed
being very hard, while the submerged part is crumbling into sand."
It is an established fact that certain localities on the coast of
Florida contain sand which concretes when exposed to the atmosphere.
What the component parts of this cement contain no one has
satisfactorily determined. It is certain all localities do not possess
the same kinds of sand.
The lands in the vicinity of Indian River will produce bananas,
pine-apples, oranges, sugar-cane, lemons, limes, strawberries,
blackberries, grass, corn, indigo, sweet potatoes, garden vegetables,
and tomato-vines that bear for three years, and bird pepper-plants which
will grow into little trees, bearing all the time.
Hunters live well here on the wild game, while those in the first stages
of consumption almost invariably fatten and recover on the diet and
atmosphere combined. The following is a favorite dish: Take a fresh
fish, without dressing; wrap in a damp paper; then place in the hot
ashes; when cooked, pull off the skin while warm; season and eat. It is
better than cod-liver oil, and can be swallowed without any winding up
of the courage whatever, previous to making the attack.
Is it not pleasant for those who can, whether invalids or not, to spend
a part of their winters, at least, in this portion of the State, where
we are surrounded by trees clothed in perpetual verdure, loaded with
native fruits, to refresh us when wearied with sight-seeing, and sated
with tales of the marvelous, with which this country abounds? It is from
association with scenes like these that a new impulse is given to our
thoughts, which confinement within brick walls, with the smoke and
changing temperature of coal-fires, cannot furnish. There is nothing
like the soothing influences connected with letting our thoughts wander
away with our eyes among the light, vapory clouds, that flit across the
sky like floating islands, while we are inhaling an atmosphere soft as
the dream of childhood's innocence, that can warm and stimulate
vegetation into maturity at all seasons.
Tourists who go up the St. John's River, on returning always bring back
something in accordance with their varied tastes. Imagine yourself a
passenger on the Hattie Barker, a steamer of somewhat smaller dimensions
than the Great Eastern, which can do more traveling in the way of making
a fuss than any boat on the river, her progress being never less than
four miles an hour. All kinds of travelers are returning from the upper
St. John's--those who have trodden the wine-press of bitterness with
suffering, and some who have sailed over the summer sea of life without
a ripple. Prompted by the impulses which induce all tourists to bring
something back when they return home, a quantity of curiosities
sufficient to start a small museum has been obtained. No small steamer
could ever have contained a larger number of tourists, with a greater
diversity of tastes. Here is the sick man, with his nervous system,
sensitive as the mimosa, who shrinks at the slightest harsh sound, and
continues scolding about "such a crowd on the boat," as though some of
them should have remained that he might have more room to fret and scold
at his patient wife. Then there come the father and mother, with four
little boys and two girls, besides the tiny baby and two nurses. How
they rush about their limited boundaries! What a restless family of
children, with the ruddy glow of health, keeping the parents and nurses
in a constant state of trepidation for fear they will fall into the
water! This family has no curiosities. With a long journey to their
home in Canada before them, their hearts are full without other
incumbrances. Two ladies sitting near us have a chameleon in a
pickle-jar; one of them is catching flies for its dinner. What a
pleasure it appears to give them when, darting out its coral-colored
tongue, and winking its bright eyes, it gobbles them up so quickly!
There is a lad, with two young alligators, who persists in taking water
from the ice-cooler, to pour on them for fear they might die. The
stewardess is on the alert to thwart his movements, by telling him, "Dat
cooler-water is for de folks, and not dem ole black 'gaitors." The lad
retorts by saying the water isn't clean. The stewardess says, "Yes, 'tis
only a few settlements in de bottom." A sound comes from one of the
staterooms, which is unmistakably made by young turkeys going North, in
March. How the keen winds up there will pierce their downy coats! They
had better save their voices for the cries they will have to utter then.
The ornithologist is also represented, with his stuffed birds, having a
flamingo, a plume-crane, an owl, eagle, and living red-bird. Another has
paroquets, which he imagines, by some mysterious manipulations, can be
made to talk like a South American parrot. One man, from Indian River,
has an immense pelican, with an enormous flat bill, below which is a
pouch attached, containing its rations. Some of the anxious mothers have
heard it eats children. What terrible looks they give this poor fellow
with the big bird, who appears so happy in the possession of his
newly-found treasure, because to him it is so remarkably curious!
Another has a blue crane, belonging to the order _Grus cinerea_,
standing erect on its stilts, showing fight. How it snaps every thing
which approaches it, like some crabbed people in the world! A young man
has a slender, not grown, animal, which he informs us is a _Cervus
Virginius_, or fawn, that he proposes taking to a friend. Among the
number is an archæologist, who has been exploring the mounds of Florida,
and procured a trophy from the recesses of a long-since departed
Indian's grave. It is a stone hatchet, which was designed to hew trees
and make boats, that the deceased might move not only with unrestrained
freedom through the lands of the Great Spirit, but also across his pure
streams. The most entertaining and original tourist of all is an
unmistakable Dutchman, from Indiana, born on the River Rhine. He is a
"bugologist," or beetle-gatherer. Hard-backed bugs and fresh-water
shells are his hobby. He has collected and sent a barrel of specimens
home in advance of him, and now he is carrying a big box, strapped
tightly with the same care as a returned miner would his nuggets of
gold. For our amusement he opened his treasure-box. The toilet articles
of no lady were ever arranged with more care. Shells odorous with the
remains of their former tenants, wrapped in cotton and tissue-paper,
bugs and beetles with alcohol on them, or fastened to a card with long,
tiny pins made for that purpose, and, last of all, a quinine-bottle in
his pocket, in readiness to capture any stray bug that might happen to
be out on an excursion. Numerous cages, containing young mocking-birds
and red-birds, are sitting around, while the tables are piled with
palmetto, air-plants, and American pitcher-plants. Every available space
is occupied--baskets stuffed with oranges, lemons, and grape-fruit,
while gray moss fills the interstices.
Many of the best people in our country are found traveling over Florida
during the winter--some looking for homes, and others only
pleasure-seeking, a few for health.
The number of old people with whom we meet while traveling here is quite
remarkable. Some have sweet, sunny faces; others look as though life had
been a continued struggle with them until now, when their solicitude was
on the _qui vive_ for fear they should get in behind time, or some
impending danger might befall them, they do not exactly know what.
The indefatigable sportsman in Florida is ubiquitous: With gun in hand,
he is constantly watching for game. If many a bird at which he aims
flies away unharmed, the excitement of shooting with unrestrained
freedom appears to give satisfaction, if nothing is killed.