At no other town in the State is the entertainment for visitors more of
a success than here, and one of those pleasant occasions brought a large
number of happy hearts together, to witness a grand opening of the
Lunch-basket on the North Beach.
Many have been the devices, in all ages of the world, by every nation
peopling the habitable globe, for a relaxation from the sterner duties
of life. Among the first to which persons of various tastes have
resorted is archery, which was practiced by that wild outcast, Ishmael,
"whose hand was against every man, and every man's hand against him." We
also read in the Pentateuch of a great and mighty hunter named Nimrod;
while conspicuously prominent among the biblical characters Job poetizes
upon drawing large finny monsters from the deep waters, and at a later
date in the same profession of the apostles.
Many monks of the Middle Ages in France are said to have delighted more
in the chase at times than the "trumpet of the gospel." Bull-fights, as
an amusement, are supposed to have originated with the Moors, and are
still practiced by the Spaniards, many of them being of Moorish origin.
Grounds in the vicinity of St. Augustine have been located, beyond a
doubt, where this cruel and barbarous custom was indulged in by early
Spanish settlers. Archery has been the most popular pastime here this
season. The Indians have made the bows and arrows for compensation and
employment--more arrows having been thrown by the "sons of the forest"
than hurled from the shafts of Cupid.
We can produce, as patrons of the hook-and-line art, prophets and
apostles in ancient times, kings of more recent date, and Izaak Walton,
who lived nearly two hundred years ago, down to the truant boy that
throws his bent pin, baited with an innocent worm, or fly, into the
clear running brook, at which an old fish looks, as if about to nibble,
then wags his tail and sails away in search of something that he can
take in without being taken himself.
A very worthy divine, Bishop Hall, has wisely remarked: "Recreation to
the mind is like whetting to the scythe. The mind that is always mowing
becomes dull for the sharpening which relaxation affords it; so the
blade that is always cutting is blunted for the want of an edge that
grinding can give."
The above remarks on recreation were suggested by an attendance upon the
opening of the Lunch-basket on the North Beach, opposite Anastasia
Island, at a place called by the classic name of Parathina, from Homer's
"Iliad": _Eban kerukes para thina tou poluphloisboio thalassees_--"The
heralds went to the beach of the high-sounding sea." A long-looked-for
and much-needed means of conveyance--a nice little steamer, called the
Mayflower--has made us happy already by its presence and
business-dispatching movements. She is a light-running little craft,
that glides gracefully as a swan. Sailing and rowing are now lost sight
of by visitors wishing to take a little ride on the water, as the wind
never dies out and leaves them, or the oar-hands grow weary, on a
steamer. The two first trips she carried over seventy passengers, which
made the day pay very well.
Mr. J. F. Whitney, who, like all the editorial fraternity, is ever busy
in trying to suggest something for either mind or body, being the prime
mover in this undertaking, has erected four pavilions, and a cook-room,
with a range. One of the smaller pavilions is carpeted, supplied with
periodicals, rocking-chairs, and a bed for the sick to rest. The largest
pavilion is nearly two hundred feet in length, and over twenty feet
wide; in front is an extended view of the beach, beyond which the
restless sea is rolling up new-born waves at every influx of its waters.
Here are also detached dining-tables for the accommodation of parties
coming together. The floor is level and smooth as it can be made, where,
it has already been whispered,
---- youth and pleasure meet,
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet.
The bill of fare for the occasion was equal to any New York restaurant.
Broiled oysters vanished with the ejaculation, "Splendid!" All eatables
shared a similar fate, with a superlative adjective attached, as the
only one which could express the gratification of the guests.
Champagne-bottles were relieved of their sparkling contents in a brief
period of time. Ice-cream and pound-cake were soon reckoned among past
pleasures, while everybody was eloquent on the subject of the
surroundings.
The North Beach has now more attractions and amusements than any other
point in the State, and when the arrangements are completed with a stud
of riding and driving horses, it may well be styled the Newport of the
South. Like Scipio the Great, after the repast many wandered by the
"murmuring sea," and gathered shells to take home with them as mementoes
of pleasant memories in a sunny clime.
When refined hearts and well-cultivated minds meet in a spot made grand
by the great Maker of all things, and rendered comfortable to our wants
by the hand of Art, where only God and his heavenly wonders have dwelt
in solitude for so many years, may we not say Scripture is being
fulfilled--that "the wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad?"
Yes, glad with happy voices in congenial companionship, and joyous with
the sweets of social intercourse. It is, indeed, "a well in the
desert"--a place provided, where persons in the pursuit of pleasure can
assemble and forget all adverse religious tenets, political differences,
or personal animosities--where secret and selfish purposes in life are
lost sight of--whether gold is up or down, what are the last figures on
the bulletin-boards of the "bulls and bears," the fractional variations
of upland or sea-island cotton, being among the subjects absorbed in the
enjoyment of the hour.
[Illustration: FLORIDA RAY-FISH, OR SKATE.]
Among others came the never-tiring fisherman, with reel and fancy bait,
who appeared much delighted with an opportunity of having sea-room for
the exhibition of his skill. He did not have to follow the old rule of
"fishing inch by inch," with an indefinite idea of when he would have a
nibble. Here is an illustration of his first bite, which caused him to
retire, dragging his prize to shore, thinking, perhaps, he might have
captured some Pythagorean metamorphosis, as it resembled neither fish
nor flesh. Upon summoning those present to his relief, the following
decision was rendered: A ray-fish, or skate, having a cartilaginous
body, of nearly a white color, with pectoral fins largely developed, the
caudal extremity being elongated into a whip-like form, armed with
spine, which makes it an ugly customer for collision. The female, being
oviparous, is provided with parchment-like cases, forming an extension,
called by seamen "sailor's purses."
The moon rose that night and looked down upon a joyous crowd seated on
the Mayflower, with a fine band from the St. Augustine Hotel. Music on
the water--who can describe its enchanting influences! It was high tide
when we arrived on the North Beach, when planks were put out for the
party to walk on, while the gentlemen and steamer-crew assisted them to
the shore. One lady remarked, in crossing, "Sometimes I take a black
hand, and then a white one." We were not particular about color then; it
was strong hands we wanted to keep us from falling in the water, as the
waves were washing over our feet. The band played sweetly, the dancing
was graceful, the refreshments abundant. When returning, the last trip,
the steamer grounded on a sand-bar, as it was ebb-tide, when the Captain
of the Bache Survey steamer kindly sent his long-boat and brought us all
to the wharf.
_St. Augustine_, March, 1877.--The work of enlivening the old town, for
the delectation of visitors and excursionists from other points, was
undertaken here to-day. Everybody was merry, and it was almost
incredible to see the number of dignified persons, on other occasions,
so completely carried along with the tide of simple sight. All,
apparently, had their laugh set on trigger, ready to go off with the
slightest vibration in the air. The streets and sea-wall of St.
Augustine, together with the balconies, windows, and doors, in the
vicinity, were the scene of preparation for a grand gala-day of
sight-seeing. The vessels in the harbor were dressed in flags of every
nationality, and waved free as the winds that tossed them to and fro.
The post-band played stirring strains, containing more sound than
sweetness, to quicken the impulses of the occasion. At a given signal,
cannons were fired, when a fleet of snowy sails shot out from the wharf,
resembling a flock of sea-gulls. The yacht-racing opened the day's
sport. They all sailed swiftly when first under way, but one after
another kept falling off and dropping behind, until the Wanderer and
Seminole were left alone to decide the contest. They moved like
something possessed with life, more than canvas spread to the breeze for
power to propel them. Finally the Wanderer won, amid the wildest shouts
of joy from every side, and many congratulations for the owner. The
cannons fired with as much demonstration as though a great battle had
just been decided. A horse-race was announced as the next excitement.
Eight jockey-dressed men and boys of different hues, mounted on
bare-backed horses of undistinguishable pedigree, but marsh tackey
predominant, were ready for the curriculum. They darted off with the
speed of a Grecian hippodrome, when they imitated the gait of almost
every untrained quadruped. On the home-stretch two of the riders rolled
off easily, as though it was a portion of the programme for which they
were prepared. Then came the hurdle-race, with the hurdles woven from
cedar and scantling. The running was sport, but the jumping was without
comparison. One of the horses caught his feet and plunged over, rider
and horse together, but, neither being hurt, everybody shouted with
glee. Another of the Arabian steeds carried the hurdles off victorious
with his hind feet, but did not fall. A foot-race by the Indians was
then declared with as much gravity as though a Grecian contestant, after
all the abstinence and training of an ancient athlete, proposed to try
his strength and speed for a victor's crown. Three or four big Indians,
dressed with fancy caps and moccasins, walked to the pedestrian
race-grounds, after which one started to run, but fell. The crowd was
too big for them, and the reward too small. Two of the natives took
their places, and made very good time, but not quite equal to a
professional walker. Then came the hand-barrow race, with that
unhistoric vehicle about which poets never sing. Ten black boys, with
ten bright bandages over their eyes, started to run a race across the
east side of the plaza. They all commenced at the word three, the band
played, the people shouted, while the boys ran; the wheel-barrows were
running a race, and so was everybody else. One boy went into the
river-basin before he could be stopped; another rushed against a
carriage, and set the horses to kicking and the ladies to screaming; a
man was knocked down and run over--he was a prim, particular bachelor,
with fine estates, whose birthday is best known to himself--it required
the combined efforts of two servants to brush the sand from his clothes
and place him in presentable trim again. Everybody in the vicinity was
liable to be under moving orders without a moment's warning. Finally the
race ended, and the victor crowned with greenbacks, which he could
appreciate more highly than the laureate wreath of a conqueror, fresh
from the goal with his coronet of fading glories.
The last performance was the greasy pole, with a fat ham on the top of
it, placed in the center of the plaza. What a climbing, scrambling, and
tumbling down, amid exclamations from the boys: "Bob, what made you let
go?" "Tom, go up, and I will hold you!" "Put on more sand, and then we
can climb!" The plaza was crowded with spectators--scores of
grandparents, all clapping their hands and laughing--large families,
with all their children, were there. The scene before them required no
explanation. Finally, after a struggle of two hours, the ham and money
were won, when all retired from the varied and innocent sports of the
day.
St. Augustine demonstrates the fact, beyond a doubt, that the cat is a
musical animal. They sit under your windows, climb on the neighboring
roofs, scream in any strain, from the lowest bass to the loudest
soprano, and never tire until the stars pale in the sky; do not become
dismayed because a few pieces of coquina are thrown at them, glass
bottles, or old boots--that only causes a change of position, when the
voice rises an octave higher, on account of the escape from a little
adventure. Here they congregate in crowds; they rehearse their exploits
in excited strains, with untiring assiduity, for the entertainment of
visitors, to prevent their receiving the impression that _St. Augustine
is a dull old place_. Then the digestive organs of the departed are
manufactured, and made to imitate the same dulcet tones in the halls of
mirth, where so many derive pleasure, by turning themselves into more
shapes than a captured sea-eel. At the St. Augustine Hotel they swallow
all kinds of condiments to the sounds coming from these membranous
strings, stretched beyond all marks of their former identity. With a
satisfied smile, and no fears from indigestion, the invalid or
consumptive consumes every variety of food, whether from land or sea,
compounded into the latest styles of the _cuisine_, to the music of "_Il
Bachio_," or "A place in thy memory, dearest!" while ice-cream vanishes
like dew to the melody, "Thou art so near, and yet so far!" or "Some one
to love me!"