Part 9

_January 31st._ Came on and off from midnight until 3 a.m. until ship floated and I hauled out my sleepy crew to pull anchors and work boat into deep water. This done it was quick to bed for some good snooze. Up, breakfast, clean up, and away by 8:30 with launch astern. Made our mark on an oyster bar first thing, but jumped her over. Across St. John’s River where tide was running fiercely. Promptly went ashore twice, trying to make creek on opposite shore. Got off each time with luck and the spinnaker pole. Breeze came dead ahead and tide in same direction so it was slow pushing all the morning and was almost glad when I ran aground good and hard and had time for lunch. Floated and were off again. Today saw old Mississippi-type river steamer with big stern wheels thrashing white water. Stern-to they looked like big, cottontail rabbits. The marsh more attractive today. More color, prettier and longer grasses, and glimpses into the lonely cypress swamps. Still the whole thing is pretty flat and unprofitable. Should stop, spend a month to study and explore. H. has a notion he will cut quite a dash at Ormond Beach, and I have advanced him 25 cents for the purpose, so it is ever on, on, on. Grounded twice more in afternoon, but come off as I came on. If you lay flat on your stomach and waited for a spring tide you might be able to drown about here. Towards night the clouds banked up ugly in west and a sharp little squall swept the river as I dropped hook for the night. By 8 o’clock skies had cleared, but it doesn’t seem as if the wind blew hard enough to sweep the clouds very far away.

_February 1st._ Comes early, say about 1 a.m. when tide turned and with smartish northeaster, we ran plunk onto an oyster bar. Might as well run into the Old Cock of Hen and Chickens. Turned out to find nothing. Black as indigo. Had to get compass to find out whether it was Florida or Chelsea. Messed around and hauled into channel. Turned in with thoughts of steamers, tows, and log booms all on top of me at once. Up and away under whole sail to freshening northeaster. Took bottom almost immediately but crowded off and smothered down stream. Breeze pricked right on and we had our hands full slacking peak, jibing, hoisting again and trying to keep in enough water to wash dishes. Jumped her good and plenty once more but we were boring at it so hard that we just split that mud flat wide open and went on. We boomed into St. Augustine at 10:30 cutting a few fancy steps along the water front and making a North River jibe to our anchor. Took things easy and didn’t go ashore until after lunch. Going ashore at a resort of this kind after leaving the swamps and marshes seems somehow like going into a 10-cent store. Everything looked pretty cheap and nasty. We wandered about for a few hours. Saw old Fort Marion and the Ponce-de-Leon Hotel. The courtyard of the hotel is truly beautiful. The street crowds look a good deal like those at Cottage City and we were glad to get on board and have supper by ourselves. Saw by the paper that another 3 master was dismasted within 20 miles of us in the blow we took the day before reaching Fernandina. Too much of the wreck business going on at my door. At Southport the 4 master went on Frying Pan. Off Georgetown when we layed to in the southwester, the 3 master McFarland was dismasted and we saw the hulk at Charleston. This last dismasted derelict we saw as we crossed St. John’s River, into which a revenue cutter had towed her. Must mind my P’s and Q’s or will be getting my come-gee-come myself. Here we are getting cold, raw weather for most part with fierce gales sweeping the coast every few days and all letters tell me of mildest weather in the north. Trees budding, flowers blooming. It all seems kind of topsy-turvy.

_February 2 to 4._ Just fooling around St. Augustine and waiting for Chinamen to wash up our wash.

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.

[Illustration: Spanish Fort Matanzas Inlet.]

_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.

[Illustration]

_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.