A Guide-Book of Florida and the South for Tourists, Invalids and Emigrants

The tropical plants, such as coffee, indigo, sesal hemp, etc., can undoubtedly be cultivated with success on the southern and southeastern coast, but hitherto, no serious attempt at their introduction has been made. For further particulars under this head, see a pamphlet of 151 pages prepared by Hon. John S. Adams, and published by the State, in 1869, entitled, “Florida, its Climate, its Soil, and Productions.”

3. CLIMATE AND HEALTH

In regard to climate, Florida is in some respects unsurpassed by any portion of the United States. The summers are not excessively hot, the average temperature of the months of June, July, and August, being at Tallahassee 79 degrees, Fah.; at St. Augustine, 80 degrees; Cedar Keys, 79 degrees; Tampa, 80 degrees; Miami, 81; and Key West, 82 degrees. The winters are delightful, the temperature of the three winter months averaging as follows: Tallahassee, 57 degrees; St. Augustine, 58 degrees; Cedar Keys, 60 degrees; Tampa, 61 degrees; Miami, 67 degrees, Key West, 70 degrees.

The summer heats are debilitating, especially in the interior. On the coast they are tempered by the sea-breeze, which rises about 10 a. m. No part of the State is entirely free from frosts. In Jacksonville they occur about once a week during the month of January, while at Miami they only happen once in several years. Now and then a severe frost occurs, which destroys the orange groves far to the south. One such in 1767 destroyed all the orange trees at Fernandina and St. Augustine; another in 1835 cut them down as far south as New Smyrna; in December, 1856, ice was noted on the Miami river; and in December, 1868, there was such an unprecedented cold snap that Lake Griffin, on the upper Oklawaha, bore ice one-and-a-half inches thick. The orange crop was destroyed as far up the St. John as Enterprise, and most of the trees ruined. On Indian river, however, the cold was not felt to a damaging extent.

The nights in winter are cool, and in the interior accompanied with heavy dews.

In summer, the prevailing winds are east and south-east, being portions of the great air currents of the trade winds. Thunder storms are frequent. In winter, variable winds from the north, northeast, and north-west prevail. At times they rise to violent gales of several days duration, called northers. These are most frequent on the west coast.

The seasons of Florida are tropical in character, one being the dry and the other the wet season. The annual rain-fall averages from fifty to sixty inches. Three-fourths of this fall between April and October. Sometimes there is nearly as much rain in the month of June as during the six winter months together. Two inches and a-half is a fair average each for the latter. The air is usually well charged with moisture, but owing to the equability of the temperature, this would hardly be suspected. Fogs are almost unknown, the sky is serene, the air clear, and no sensation of dampness is experienced. The hygrometer alone reminds us of how nearly the atmosphere is saturated with warm, watery vapor.

In the concluding chapters of this work I shall discuss at length the adaptation of the climate to invalids, and shall here speak of it chiefly as it affects residents.

The prevailing diseases are of miasmatic origin. Dysentery of mild type, pneumonia and diarrhœa are occasional visitors, but the most common enemy to health is the swamp poison. Intermittent and remittent fevers are common along the fresh water streams. On the sea coast they are rare, and after the month of October they disappear, but in the summer and early autumn they are very prevalent in some portions of the State. They are, however, neither more severe nor more frequent than in the lowlands of all the Gulf States, or in southern Indiana and Illinois.

These complaints are characteristic of new settlements, usually disappearing after the land has been cleared a few years. They can be generally avoided by care in habits of life, and the moderate use of some bitter tonic. All who are exposed should be on their guard, avoiding excesses, over-work, getting chilled, the night dews, damp clothing, etc.

One fall I ascended the Ocklawaha river in a “pole-barge” – a large scow propelled by poles. At night we fastened the boat to a tree, and slept at some neighboring house. The captain and several of the “darkies” had a diurnal shake, with great regularity, and I entered hardly a single house from Palatka to Ocala in which one or more of the family were not complaining of the same disease. I had no quinine with me, and in default of it used as a preventive a strong tincture of the peel of the bitter-sweet orange. Either through its virtues or good luck, I escaped an attack, quite to the surprise of my companions. I repeat, however, that during the winter there is no danger from this source, and even during the sickly season an enlightened observance of the rules of health will generally protect the traveler.

4. VEGETABLE AND ANIMAL LIFE

The traveler who, for the first time, visits a southern latitude, has his attention most strongly arrested by the new and strange forms of vegetable life. I shall mention some of those which give the scenery of Florida its most peculiar features.

The most abundant is the saw palmetto, chamærops Adansonii. This vigorous plant is found in all parts of the peninsula, flourishing equally well in the pine barren and the hammock. It throws up its sharp-edged leaves some four or five feet in length, from a large, round root, which is, in fact, a trunk, extending along the surface of the ground. The young shoots and inner pith of the root are edible, and were often eaten by the Indians.

The cabbage palm, another species of Chamærops, is one of the most beautiful of trees. It raises its straight, graceful trunk to a height of 50, 60 and 100 feet, without a branch, and then suddenly bursts into a mass of dark green, pendant fronds. In the center of this mass, enveloped in many folds, is found the tender shoot called the “cabbage.” It tastes like a raw chestnut, and was highly prized by the Indians. This palm is not found north of St. Augustine, and is only seen in perfection about Enterprise, and further south.

The live oak and cypress are the tenants of the low grounds. The former has a massive trunk, much esteemed for ship timber, spreading branches, and small green leaves. It is a perennial, and is not found farther north than South Carolina. The cypress stands in groups. Its symmetrical shaft rises without branches to a considerable height, and then spreads out numerous horizontal limbs, bearing a brown and scanty foliage. The base of the trunk is often enlarged and distorted into strange shapes, while scattered through the swamps are abortive attempts at trees, a foot or two thick and five or six feet in height, ending in a round, smooth top. These are called “cypress knees.”

Two parasitic plants abound in the forests, the mistletoe and the Spanish moss, tillandsia usneoides. The former has bright green leaves and red berries. The latter attaches itself to the cypress and live oak, and hangs in long gray wreaths and ragged masses from every bough in the low lands.

The southern shores and islands are covered with the mangrove, a species of the rhizophora. It is admirably adapted to shore building. The seed grows to a length of five or six inches before it leaves its calyx, when it resembles in form and color an Havana cigar. When it drops into the water it floats about until it strikes a beach, where it rapidly takes root and shoots out branches. Each branch sends down its own root, and soon the shore is covered with a dense growth, which in time rises to a height of twenty or thirty feet, and prevents the sand from any further shifting.

Two varieties of a plant called by the Seminoles koonta, bread, grow luxuriantly in the south. The red koonta, the smilax china of botanists, is a thrifty, briary vine, with roots like a large potato. The white koonta, a species of zamia, has large fern-like leaves and a root like a parsnip. Both were used by the Indians as food, and yield from 25 to 30 per cent. of starch.

At some seasons, dense masses of vegetation form on the lakes and rivers and drift hither and thither with the wind, natural floating islands. They are composed chiefly of a water plant, the pistia spathulata, with the stalks and leaves of the water lily, nymphea nilumbo.

The bitter-sweet orange grows wild in great quantities along the streams. It is supposed to be an exotic which has run wild, as none of the species was found in the New World, and no mention is made of the orange in the early accounts of the peninsula, as undoubtedly would have been the case had it then flourished. The fruit has a taste not unlike the Seville orange, and is freely eaten by the inhabitants.

The cork tree, the sesal hemp, and other tropical plants have been introduced, and no doubt could be successfully cultivated in the extreme south. The coacoanut palm grows vigorously at Key West, and on the adjacent mainland.

The animal life of Florida indicates its proximity to the tropics. Alligators are now scarce in the lower St. John, but are found in great numbers in the interior. They are by no means dangerous. The largest I ever saw was nearly 15 feet in length.

The manatee, or sea cow, an herbivorous cetacean, midway between fish and flesh, once abounded in Florida. When Audubon visited the peninsula, his guide boasted of having killed “hundreds” of them, and their bones are often found as far north as the Suwannee river. The Manatee spring and Manatee river bear record in their names to their former abundance. Now, I think, they are nearly extinct. A few still linger in the extreme south. Two were caught on the Indian river in the commencement of 1869, and exhibited in Jacksonville and Savannah.

The gopher, testudo polyphemus, is a large land turtle found in the pine woods, and is esteemed as an article of diet. The deer, panther, black bear, black and grey wolf are quite common.

Beautiful perroquets, wild turkeys, white and rose-colored curlew, the latter prized for their tinted wings, pelicans, cormorants, herons, fish-crows, and cranes are seen in great numbers.

The moccason and rattle-snake are the only venomous serpents. The former is most feared, but I do not remember to have heard of many deaths from the bite of either. Scorpions, centipedes and tarantulas abound, but are not very poisonous, and never fatally so. The mosquitoes are at times dreadfully annoying, and there is no escape from them. Sand-flies, ticks, and knats also mar the pleasures of camp life, but the true hunter rises superior to such inconveniences.

The best river fish is the trout – not the speckled native of the northern streams, but of good flavor, and “game” when hooked. The mullet – a fish about a foot long – swarms on the coast in incredible numbers. The pompano is considered almost as good as the salmon. Catfish are large and coarse.

4. THE ST. JOHN RIVER, ST. AUGUSTINE, AND INDIAN RIVER

The St. John river is about 400 miles in length, and from two to three miles wide, as far up as Lake George. It is, in fact, rather an arm of the sea than a river, and probably is the remains of an ancient lagoon. Its current is about one mile an hour, and the slope of its bed so little that at such a distance from its mouth as at Lake Monroe, a careful survey showed that it was but three feet six inches above sea level. The tides are perceptible as far as Lake George, and its water more or less brackish at least this far. This may be partly owing to several large salt springs which empty into it. Its waters are of a light coffee-color, frequently covered with a perceptible scum. Above Lake George they are pleasant to the taste, but do not easily quench the thirst, apparently owing to the salts of various kinds in solution.

Contrary to all the other large streams in the United States, the St. John flows nearly due south until within fifteen miles of its mouth, when it turns abruptly to the east, entering the Atlantic at 30 degrees 24 seconds, north latitude. For this peculiarity of its course, the Chahtas named it Il-la-ka, corrupted into Welaka by the whites. Mr. Buckingham Smith asked an intelligent native what the word meant. He answered slowly: “It hath its own way, is alone, and contrary to every other.”

The only important tributary it receives is the Oklawaha. They each drain a row of numerous ponds, lakes, and marshes, and are separated by the Thlauhatke, or White Hills, the highest hills in the peninsula, and an elevated sandy ridge, covered with scruboak, known as the “Eteniah scrub.”

The St. John was discovered in 1562, by Jean Ribaut, leader of the Huguenot colony of Admiral Coligny. He named it the River May, having entered it in that month. In the Spanish chronicles it is referred to as the Rio de San Matteo (St. Matthew). When it was named San Juan, does not appear, but the English took this name and translated it into the present appellation.

In accordance with the best usage of our geographical writers, I shall omit the possessive sign, and speak of it as the St. John river; and in mentioning localities on the right or left bank, the reader is notified that while geographically these terms are used as if a person were descending the river, for the convenience of the traveler I use them as of one ascending it.

The mouth of the St. John is hardly a mile wide, and is impeded by a shifting sand bar, having rarely more than seven feet of water at low tide. The entrance is by a southerly pass, which leaves the course of the stream concealed by the shore of Baton island, on the north. This island is settled by a number of river pilots with their families, hardy and worthy people. On the southern shore the tourist sees the old and new lighthouses, and a row of brilliantly white sand dunes extending inland a mile or more.

Baton Island passed, an extensive salt marsh is seen to form the northern bank of the river; through this numerous sluggish streams wind their way, forming part of the “inside, passage” to Fernandina. Near the entrance of this passage a number of symmetrical mounds, from 20 to 50 feet in height, strike the eye. These are known as “The Sisters,” or more prosaically as the “Oyster Banks,” as, on examination, they prove to be composed almost exclusively of broken oyster shells, covered with a tangled low shrubbery. No doubt they are relics of the many glorious oyster feasts indulged in by the indigenes in times gone by. I regret that they were not visited by Prof. Jeffries Wyman, who has given us so excellent an account of the “Fresh-Water-Shell-Heaps of the St. John’s River, East Florida,” (Salem, Mass., 1868).

Having passed the bar, the river rapidly widens. About six miles from the entrance the channel runs close along the base of a hill or headland of moderate height, covered with pine, cedar, etc. This is *St. John’s Bluff, and is unquestionably the site of Fort Caroline, the settlement of Coligny’s band of Huguenots in 1562.

A tragic interest surrounds this spot. Here, in 1564, Rene de Laudonniere established the colony of French Protestants, intending to reclaim a portion of this vast wilderness. His action was soon reported at the jealous court of Spain.

Phillip II. at once despatched Pedro Menendez de Aviles, an accomplished soldier and earnest Catholic, to root out the feeble colony. It was done only too well. In the excitement of a surprise, Sept. 19th, 1565, the orders of Menendez to spare the women, the old men, and the children were disregarded by the furious soldiery, and nearly every one was massacred. Laudonniere and a few others escaped by scrambling down the rough and thorn-covered eastern face of the bluff, and wading through the marshes to the mouth of the river, where they reached their ships. They bore the distressing tidings to France. The ruler of that realm, the projector of the massacre of St. Bartholemew, and the son of Catharine de Medicis, was not the one to trouble himself about the death of a few Huguenots who had encroached on foreign soil. But the stain of unavenged blood did not remain on France. A private gentleman, Dominique de Gourgues, fitted out an expedition in 1568. Suddenly appearing before Fort Caroline, then manned by Spanish troops, he attacked and routed the garrison and burned the structure. As it was reported that Menendez had inscribed on a tablet that the massacre of the Huguenots was not done “as to Frenchmen but to heretics;” so De Gourgues returned the grim courtesy, and left an inscription that the dead men around had been slain “not as Spaniards, but as traitors, thieves and murderers.”

In 1856, some copper coins were found near here bearing the inscription:

KAROLUS ET JOANNA RE

They were identified by Mr. Buckingham Smith as of the reign of Carlos I. (Charles V.) and Donna Juanna, and therefore date from about 1550.

More recently a coin of about the same period, and from the same spot, but with a different and not fully legible inscription was exhibited to the Numismatic and Antiquarian Society of Philadelphia.

During the late civil war the Bluff was fortified by a detachment of Confederate troops, and for some days held against the gunboats of the United States forces. At length they were out-flanked by a party of Union soldiers, who made their way in the rear by the margin of the swamp, and the work was surrendered.

A few miles beyond the bluff the boat stops at

YELLOW BLUFF

It has a post office and one small boarding-house, ($8.00 per week,) about 40 inhabitants, mostly engaged in fishing. Near by is a small fort, built during the recent war, and on the opposite bank of the river, on a plantation called New Castle, are an Indian mound and the vestiges of an ancient, quadrilateral earthwork of Spanish origin.

Yellow Bluff was first chosen by Col. I. D. Hart as the city which he proposed to build on the St. John, but as he found some marsh land near which he thought might prove disadvantageous to such a large city as he contemplated founding, he passed further up the stream and built his cabin on the spot now known as the “Cow’s Ford,” where the King’s Road in the old days crossed the river and connected St. Augustine with the northern settlements, twenty-five miles above the bar. This spot, then occupied by a few straggling whites and half breeds, is now the site of the flourishing city of

JACKSONVILLE

Hotels.– *St. James, on the public square, with airy piazzas, $4.00 a day; *Taylor House, fronts the river; *Price House, close to the railroad depot; St. John’s House, in the center of the city; Howard House; Cowart House; Union House; Florida House; *Rochester House, on the bluff south of the town; from $2.00 to $3.00 a day.