Part 8

We went to the much advertised South Beach where we expected to find quite a bit of life, but instead found the cheapest sort of outfit with not a soul in sight. There was an alligator farm with hundreds of the critters from the biggest and oldest down to teeny, weeny little fellows. They also had lots of rattlers and moccasin snakes caught right about here. I guess the Mascot’s cabin is full as good as tent life in these parts. St. Augustine differs from all the other cities we have seen because it is the oldest one in the United States and has a distinct and most attractive individuality handed down from days of Spanish rule. We should have done a little sightseeing but for us, sufficient for each day is the hustle thereof. One evening long after dark as we were leaving the wharf in putt-putt, a man hailed us and asked us where our lantern was. I replied that it was on board the big boat and asked if they were fussy around here. The voice from the dark said, “You are talking with the inspector.” I didn’t just remember the repartee for the situation, but meekly told H. to row on board. Am awaiting arrest now, and it ain’t so funny as it sounds. Would rather be layed to outside than languish in prison. Wish I knew how to spell “Layed-to.” Never feel sure whether I am a sailor or a hen-yard. Have our shore grub in a sort of “Club,” all dolled up in imitation Moorish fashion. Not badly done and good cook. We have never seen more than three persons besides ourselves eating there. I fancy hotels and all are sort of subsidized by Henry M. Flagler. One night we heard a bully crash and down the stairs came a girl imitating Scotty in a fit. H. and I to the rescue pronto. We picked her up, and undoubtedly saved her life, but got no prize, and she dined with another fellow. That makes me think that Scotty being particularly well got some meat the other day. The fun began in the fore peak, but instantly spread over the whole ship. A tangled mass of claws, teeth, and fur landed first in my lap, and then in the cockpit. While H. jumped on deck to see if it had gone overboard, down through the skylight it came like a rocket stick scattering pens, ink, paper, etc., etc. all about. When I picked my head out of my bunk pillows the cyclone had disappeared in the lazaret, the entrance to which we blocked up promptly. No more meat, Scotty.

[Sidenote: Map E.]

_February 5th._ Were away in an undeniably pretty chance. Single reef and good breeze northeast with clear skies. Much more attractive going with shores edged with timber and with water clear and with some color. Strong head tide, but we bucked it handsomely until 12:30 when we took bottom good and plenty giving us a chance to lunch quietly and write log. With coming tide we floated and were stuck again in 100 yards. Floated and ran ashore some more. Next time we got her going, away we went like a pigeon without his tail, for an oyster shell had somehow wedged itself into the bottom rudder pintle hole and so lifted rudder that wheel wouldn’t go in gear. Merry minutes until we could dig old tiller out from lazaret and ship it. Night was falling and after working her around a particularly bad bend we anchored for the night which was clear and precious near frosty.

_February 6th._ Another peacherino morning with nice working northerly airs. Never had sailboat a better weather chance to work southward. Would like to work it hard but am only just mending up after the previous hard spells and must go easy, so 8:30 before we slipped away. Down river with fair wind and tide abooming. Passed a fine bit of old Spanish ruin. By far and away the best thing of its kind I ever saw over here. It was an old tower built as a southerly defence for St. Augustine. Then we crossed Matanzas Inlet and entered upon some most pernickety navigation. With H. on bowsprit and clear water we managed to get along 4 or 5 miles with repeated draggings, and jumping her over. At last we made a sad miscue and ran her up on an oyster bar with everything standing and at about full of the tide. Had to get mighty busy and mighty quick. Little anchor astern no good. Up hatch and drag out those big 200 lb. sacks of wet sand and put them on rail. No good. Out big anchor, and as last resort, before throwing ballast overboard, I hitched on throat halliards and held her down to her rail. Just as we came two blocks she moved a hair and by lustily pushing and hauling we worked her off and piped crew to dinner. Close call for a 12 hour set and midnight circus. Away after lunch and entered the cuttings of the Florida East Coast Canal Co. Had a bully afternoon. Bright warm sun. Woods open to edge of canal and canal itself interesting with its dredged banks sometimes 20 or more feet high on either hand. Sand mostly of beautiful coloring, siennas, chromes, deep browns and now and then great streaks of gamboge. Sometimes the cuttings had gone for miles through the shell rock called coquina, and here the canal water had cut hundreds of little miniature caves and grottos. Later we passed orange plantations with some trees all in yellow fruit close to the bank. The whole afternoon was fine and the most peaceful and restful we have had for many a day. We saw pelicans and white herons and blue herons, hawks, buzzards, swallows, and big, fat mallard ducks. We skirted close and peered into great, gloomy palmetto forests which somehow had the look of sheltering alligators, and snakes. At nightfall we came to a highway bridge and tooted our horn in vain. Stopped, tied up, and investigated. On a sign we read that if we left the draw open we would have all manner of things done for us. H. was soon playing ring-around-rosey with the iron bar and back the draw was going when down the road from nowhere comes an auto. “Hey, there,” says the pompous one, “Shut that draw and let us over.” “Not much until I’m through,” says I, and we didn’t. The chauffeur came to look at Mascot and said, pointing to her, “Will that go upon the ocean?” “Sure,” says I. “I thought so,” he replied and went to tell the people in the car the remarkable fact. As near as we can find out nobody has ever come down here under sail before. The natives stare with astonishment at the bit of canvas. It is my impression that nobody else will ever come, either. We tied up to the bridge abutment for the night.

_February 7th._ Weather had turned to the bad during the night, and in the pitch black of 5 a.m. I was waked from a bully sleep by a hurry call on deck from H. First time this cruise that H. has had to call _me_. Tumbled out to find a big scow houseboat trying to get through the draw and being swept back and down atop of us. We pushed and pulled awhile and finally he worked through and we turned in again. We entered the broad reaches of the shoal Halifax River where stakes and finger posts guided us along a channel having about 6 feet of water. Often for miles there were no posts and we had to go it blindly with help of lead. It rained bucketsful and I wished I could turn boat bottom up, for there was plenty of water upstairs. Worked down past Ormond Beach and passing through the bridges found ourselves off the wharves of Daytona. In trying to reach the wharves we ran her ashore for keeps so went to town in launch. Met Henry’s uncle who was much troubled to think of the Mascot stuck on the mud. Kind friends at the yacht club at once organized a relief expedition which resulted in the running ashore of the relief launch and the smashing of her rudder. Much pulling and hauling followed, but old Mascot never budged which was quite as it should be for I might have broken my rudder if she had started. Late that evening when a few inches of tide served, H. and I put out our big anchor with all our chain to hold it down and after dumping over a little sand ballast, floated her without trouble and somewhat to the surprise of the natives were lying quietly at yacht club wharf early next morning.

_February 8th to 16th._ Put in quietly and pleasantly at Daytona, which is a mighty attractive place. Mr. Rodman, Henry’s uncle, was most kind in every way. Hired bicycles and rode to Ormond Daytona Beach, which is a wonder. Saw flying machines taking up passengers at $25.00 each, and we envied the rich. H. showed signs of having a brain, for after discussing the rather tedious proposition of pushing, pulling, and hauling old Mascot further south through the mud and sand, he suggested taking the launch and making a dash for the pole. That sounded good to me, so we built a framework of boards along the rail of the launch to carry our dunnage and after sawing off the legs of two chairs bolted them to the thwarts. It made a funny looking ferryboat, but I believe if we strike good camping weather and sprinkle lots of carpet tacks about to keep the alligators and Seminoles away o’nights, we may have a mighty good time with sporting element not lacking, which would certainly be the case in Mascot. Plan to sew spinnaker into some form of tent to be set up with oars and boat hook. Letter from John Bullard says Jack Reynolds is reporting Scotty as dead. What do you make of that? He must be trying to manipulate the market and selling short. Spent all one evening trying to define what I mean by the word “sport” and sifted it down to this:

Sport

The pursuit of pleasurable occupation which requires exposure to weather, exercise of all bodily muscles, judgment, skill of hand, foot and eye; never to be followed without a degree of personal risk. Under such classification I put

Sailing of boats, Handling of horses Hunting and Canoeing Mountain climbing.

I know of no other purely sporting propositions.

Went to Orlando one day and back the next. Saw my old farmer, Erving Reed, and his wife. He is manager of a big orange grove. Gave me the skin of a 5 ft. rattler, with 12 rattles, which he killed on the place a short time ago. Sometimes I wonder a little bit about the camping trip which we propose. If the moccasins get you in the water and the rattlers on the shore, where in H---- do you sleep, anyway? Weather pulled northeast drizzly again. Three days of hard northeast rain, which is probably good for garden truck and such.

_February 16th._ Before turning in last night we saw the clouds split wide open to the westward, and we slept with two blankets and were cold at that. Gave up the idea of going in launch, for this cold northeast rain has made it dangerous for camping on the ground, and I have plenty of rheumatix now. Up with the light and away at 8 o’clock. Launch astern and Mascot light without her ballast. Made good time before smart northerly airs. The water clear and so it was fairly easy to avoid the many sand bars. The channel wound in, out, and around many little wooded islets, and it was quite like sailing on the still waters of some northern lake. Down past New Smyrna and so with many crooks and bends to Mosquito Inlet, where is a fine great light tower. Here we miscued badly, but the clear water saved our bacon and we were able to turn the outfit around and regain the deep water. Then on until we got badly boxed and had to go channel hunting in launch before we could get on. Without ballast old Mascot pushed around as easy as you please and while we got aground many times, we had little trouble in working off. Just before reaching the little settlement of Eldora, we passed the big, Indian shell mound and in a few miles approached Mosquito Lagoon, a good big stretch of water spread out mighty thin. No place for me to be bobbing about in with no ballast and only a dinky little launch, so it was haul to the bank, and fill up some canvas bags with sand and stow them. Then out to entrance of big lagoon, which spread beautifully calm before us. It was late afternoon and the east was all blue and purple mists. Across the water to the west, lay a broad, blood-red pathway to the sun just dropping, a great ball, behind the dark line of palmettos. Flights of pelicans and big, long necked cranes stood out sharply against the crimsoned sky. We tied to the bank of a little island for the night which was filled with the strange calls and cries of strange birds. H. complained of sore throat so he did his gozzle up with cold bandage and red flannel.

_February 17th._ Never a day broke fairer. H. had good night, but turned out with a fearful cold and pretty sore throat, so waited for sun to warm things up well before tripping our hook. Then away into broad Mosquito Lagoon in which we grounded a good many times before reaching the haulover canal or out leading through into Indian River. Passed through the cut and as we entered the river we saw a great, black pig quarter mile from shore quietly rooting away in water 15 in. deep. Now what do you make of that? If swordfish iron hadn’t been washed overboard long ago might have had a little aside at pig-sticking from the launch. Indian River same as Mosquito Lagoon, except there are a few more feet of water and practically no danger of grounding. The river is wide at this point just above Titusville, and as the shores are low, the whole thing is uninteresting even on such a perfect afternoon. Lots of ducks and very tame. I got two with old Bess and might have had many more but didn’t need them. We pushed on and on and it was long after dark when we dropped hook off village of Cocoa. Think we must have done our forty miles or better today. I seldom measure it off. In fact we never look at the charts ahead to see just how far it is to any place, but start in at top of a chart, work through it, and unroll another to be handled in the same way. After doing this several times we finally unroll one that has our stopping place. At starting we had 39 charts in the roll. Tonight we put the keebosh on No. 35 so we must be pretty close to the jumping off place. H. turned in early feeling kind of meechin from effect of his cold, which has gone to his head and taken away his taste to that degree that he no longer finds fault with my cooking.

_February 18th._ Turned out to another bright, warm, calm morning. H. sneezing and coughing at a great rate. Into wharf for gasoline and oil where was also interviewed by newspaper man. Then away southward once more. Set our awning. Most grateful, cooling shade. There we sat in our easy chairs, smoking and reading just like the nasty rich, who passed us in their palatial houseboats. Ducks, ducks, ducks. Acres and acres, thousands and thousands. So tame it seemed we must surely run them down. Fun to see their little feet paddle, paddle so fast to help them rise from the calm water. It was the same story all day. Low, uninteresting shores dotted here and there with houses and little villages and ahead always that great stretch of calm water. Towards end of day we came to some right pernickety navigation and we jumped her again and again, but always were able to push off and on once more. At five o’clock with sky sort of festering up, we snugged into Sebastian’s Creek and over hook in 6 ft. of water which is a handsome depth, here away.

_February 19th._ Turned out before light to find an ugly look to sky and sort of soaking air southeast. Anchorage under these conditions didn’t suit me a bit so was away early with breeze in my eye and pricking on. Six miles and more down to Indian River Narrows and couldn’t put sail on as there was only 5 ft. in channel and nothing on either side the last mile or so. Came pesky hard, but by taking in awning little launch was able to kick us into a snug little cove where we put down hook to await better chances. Made up a new recipe for game and had most successful noonday feed. Here you go for duck a la Mascot.

SAUCE

Boil one tomato and strain for essence. Add little of gravy smothering duck. Thicken with cream, flavor with tablespoon of guava jelly, dash of Worcestershire, pepper, salt, and add one egg beaten. Don’t get in too much duck gravy as it is too greasy.

DUCK

Take the four breast meats of two duck. Smother them 5 to 8 min. in ½″ water skin-side down in covered saucepan. Dip in egg and cracker crumbs _once_ and fry brown in very hot bacon drippings. Serve on toast with sauce poured over.

This is an economical dish, too, for you get all the breast meat and none of the other gets cooked until you put it into pot for a stew or soup. I think a touch of lemon in place of Worcestershire would help that sauce, but it’s a mighty good dream as it is.

Weather grew continually more ugly and finally about sundown it began to blow and rain southeast with good, earnest tropical rain. Well I guess, and more to come. It swept across decks like a flood and dashed into cockpit so hard we had to shut cabin doors. We smoked up our pipes and managed to create quite a cosy atmosphere.

_February 20th._ Turned out before day broke and found things shaping for a pretty morning. Queer what critters we humans be. Last night in the blow and rain I felt like home or die, and this morning it was Miami or bust. Kicked my crew awake and we were soon picking our way among the shoals and islands of Indian River Narrows. All the marshes were in young green. Vivid in the early morning light. H. could hear the birds everywhere and we passed a great flight of swallows winging north. From these Narrows we entered the long stretch of lower Indian River and stopped first thing to lend a man a hand who the evening before had run his little houseboat high and dry and with his wife had spent a most uncomfortable night. It was no use, we couldn’t budge him. Before we left he paddled over with his anchor and a warp big enough for the Fall River boat and asked us to bend it on for him as he frankly confessed he never could learn to tie those knots. We put sail to her and with fresh northwester on our counter began to reel off the miles in great shape. Having only about 500 lbs. of sand aboard the old boat would plow her nose right into it and try to turn and look us in the face, but with launch tied astern with quarter lines we kept her head southerly and let her boil with about 2 ft. of water under her keel. At Fort Pierce, a distressingly barren looking town, we stopped for gas and went on with a reef in the mainsail. The afternoon’s sail was what you read about. Smooth water as blue as blue can be. Green shores not too far away. A smart breeze with balmy warmth to it. Calm at sunset with a great full moon rising into a purple-blue tropic sky. Quietly to anchor under west shore some few miles below Jensen.

_February 21st._ Dawn found me peeking out and boiling coffee, but heavy land fog kept us at anchor and we didn’t point her nose south until 7 o’clock. The fog away, there came a bright hot sun which brought out the awning pretty quick. We crossed St. Lucie Inlet and there watched an Indian fisherman stand on the bow of his motorboat and take her over the shoals and through the surf. The bright sky, blue water breaking over the bar, the boat, the man so unconsciously graceful made a delightful picture. Then on into narrow crooked going, deep into the tangled mass of mangrove swamps. Finger posts guided us for the most part well but sometimes there were none, and we wandered off into blind leads only to have to push back and try again. About noon we passed through Hobe Sound where on left-hand shore which we skirted were lots of ideally beautiful Florida winter homes. The houses unpretentious, well done, and the gardens a mass of bloom and color. Again we plunged into swamp but now much more beautiful. Then we shot out into Jupiter River just above the inlet and making a mighty sharp bend jumped at once into the swamps again. We are in this swamp as I write. So narrow the creek that the palm trees cast shadows on the paper as I write. Color is everywhere now. Green in every shade, yellows, browns and reds. The mangroves with their thousand roots make a green wall along our way. The water flows in and under for Lord knows how far. I want to write to a man who has put up a “For Sale” sign and ask him whether he sells by the acre or gallon. Flowers, too, lots of them. Morning-glories and all sorts and kinds and colors that I don’t know the name of. Passed from the creek out into Lake Worth about 5 p.m. and sailed down towards Palm Beach as the sun was setting and that wonderful blue was growing in the east. Came to anchor at nightfall off the docks and gardens of the Royal Poinciana and watched the big moon rise over the gables of that famed establishment.

For several days now Scotty has given us much anxiety. Even warm malted milk has what you call distressed her, and she has not been particular as to where to be distressed. Tonight after supper we finally found her stiff as a board in bottom of launch. We gathered round to shed a tear when she lifted her head, cried “skizzgah! skizzgah!” and returned to life. She is a mighty sick mimi tonight, however. I am afraid that old broken end of glass medicine dropper is trying to permanently locate in her interior. She does not seem to suffer pain so will just let things go. I hate to think of her leaving us. Trains of cars cross the bridge near by, and the fit may have been caused by fright at their noise.

At 9 p.m. I had a fit of my own and nothing for it but must doll up, go ashore and see the sights. To the hotel, of course, and there instead of finding people out enjoying the glory of the beautiful evening we found them working hard at the dance and at cards. It is all very interesting and to me novel. I have never seen a crowd of Americans of this stamp at play. The women looked tired and fagged and the men not much better. There was no light-heartedness anywhere and the whole thing done as if on the stage. There were several couples who later in the grill-room danced the “trot” for the edification of all hands to the music of a nigger band and singers. I got the impression the girls were professionals and the men working out board and lodging. I learned later that their names appeared in the newspapers as “society leaders.” I saw only one or two aristocratic looking women, the others were not more than one generation from the immigration office. It will be many a year yet before our people learn how to enjoy their leisure time. How easy in this new workshop of ours to make a few dollars, but how hard it seems for people to get any real pleasure in the spending of them when made.

_February 22 to 28th._ Palm Beach. From our anchorage the whole scene is most attractive. The Royal Poinciana is a huge caravansary and with its roof topping the green of the palms has a good bit of grandeur. The color scheme is undeniably good with light yellows of the palm, the blue-green of the palmetto, pure whites and faintest pinks reflected from red piazza roofs, themselves hidden by white balustrades. Launches with merry parties are dashing all about and lend flashes of bright color. Houseboats with bunting fluttering come, anchor, and go again while now and then an army hydroaeroplane jumps in air with roar of motor. On shore the band plays and nice looking people take tea beneath the palms or are wheeled about in chairs. We go ashore and look and stare. Watch the bathers and even venture to take a meal or two in the “winter garden” but take it from me, brown-tail moth is nothing to the sting of poverty and somehow there seems to be a light-heartedness lacking to it all and soon my interest flags and I want to be into the swamp and away. Over it all floods hot sunshine with muggy air which has no freshness even in the early morning.