CEDAR Keys is the terminus of the West India Transfer Railroad—that comfortless, unlovely, much-abused sand and water place—where people always heretofore have paid a big price for a small equivalent. There is life in the old town yet. She supports a newspaper now, and has a good hotel, kept by Dr. McIlvaine, who knows how to serve the traveling public, without robbing them, when they are in his power. The memory of the fresh fried fish, they can serve up so fresh and hot, will make visitors who go once have a desire to return. Then, to think of oysters twenty-one times in a week! Consider on it, those who never ate enough fine, first-class bivalves in their lives. Visitors who come here will find sailing and fishing very fine amusement. Cedar Keys is going to have a big hotel—then everybody will want to come, if they can only regulate the prices according to the amount of accommodation. There is, no doubt, a bright future before her yet.

For the benefit of those who imagine Cedar Keys never had a citizen in it with an idea much above an oyster, I have copied the following, which is a specimen of the toasts drunk by the patriotic to the military, July 4, 1843. They contain something so genuine, in the way of word-selecting find arranging, that it really reads refreshing in these days, when such a surfeit of fulsome flattery is considered the only current coin of the day:

“Mr. Speaker. Freedom’s Anniversary: The wilds of Florida, where echoed the Indian’s war-whoop and the revengeful battle-strife, to-day bring forth their festive offering. We celebrate a new jubilee.

“By Mr. Thompson. The champions of Florida’s restoration from the desolations of war—Generals Jessup and Worth.

“By Mr. Brown. Colonel Belknap: The red man’s friend in peace—the terror of the savage in war.

“By William Cooley. Colonel Wm. S. Harney: The brave and gallant avenger of savage atrocity and barbarity.

“By Augustus Steele, Esq. General Worth: The peaceful fields we till, the quiet roads we travel in happy security, the waving corn and lowing herds that gladden our senses, bespeak our remembrance and admiration of the skill and intrepidity, also the indomitable perseverance which, under difficulties little less than insurmountable, have secured us these blessings.”

The “moving impulse” from Cedar Keys for a long time was in a weak condition, the H. Cool being the only craft to convey passengers from here to Manatee and Tampa. However, now two regular steamers, with good accommodations, are to be had, without the prospect of a dive beneath the briny waves.

Many imagine that a trip to South Florida is an enterprise which would require the fortitude of a Stanley to undertake. It is true, the inaccessible position of some localities in this portion of the State would be rather impracticable for feeble invalids; but what more could craving humanity demand than a climate where the thermometer never rises over ninety, and rarely descends lower than sixty? By taking a creditable steamer at Cedar Keys, we can reach Manatee, the point of our destination. Sometimes the gulf is a little rough, but very often smooth as a mill-pond, when we glide along gently as a sail across a summer sea.

Clear Water Harbor, the last point before Manatee, was first explored by Narvaez, whom the Indians received without demonstrations of fear or hostility. After the Spaniards landed, they were attracted by the gold worn upon the persons of the Indians, which they said came from the far North. These Spaniards, being both sailors and soldiers, wearied with maritime pursuits and fighting, now resolved to try their fortunes on land. They started with three hundred men, in a north-west course, to search for the mountains of gold. In their travels they discovered nothing but fatigue, privation, disappointment, and death, wherever they went. But four of the number survived, who became medicine men among the Indians—finally making their way to Mexico, after an absence of six or seven years.

Nothing of particular interest occurs to break the monotony during our voyage to Manatee, one hundred miles distant from Cedar Keys. It is situated on a river of the same name, fifteen miles from the gulf. It was named from the sea-cow, which was found there, and used as an article of food. Visitors or immigrants may have the fondest dream of their imagination realized in finding here all the natural accompaniments for a pleasant home.

The view of Manatee, as we approach the town, is not particularly imposing—the houses being scattered in every direction, like the forces of a retreating army, while each settler appears to have taken possession of what land he could cultivate as he came. The dwellings are embowered in orange-trees, which in March freight the air with a perfume that permeates our very existence, producing a kind of luxurious rest, when time and all objects around us move as though in dreamland.

Perennial spring-time keeps vegetation growing all winter. The Palma Christi, in this locality, becomes a large tree, yielding its beans perfectly every year; while tomato-vines grow to an immense size, twining into shady bowers, fruiting, without cessation, until three years old, when the tomato has a strong flavor, resembling the vine. The guava, from which the jelly of commerce is manufactured, grows spontaneously, and it is said the mamma of all in South Florida still flourishes at this place. The lands in the vicinity are pine, hummock, and prairie. The pine-land requires fertilizing—the hummock, clearing and ditching—when two hogsheads of sugar and seventy five gallons of sirup are the average product of an acre, which, to those who never in their lives had as much sugar as they could eat, is a sweet item.

The prairie-lands furnish sustenance for the lowing herds, which are wild as deer. They are captured by a song the “cow-boys” sing, resembling nothing else in the world. Where it originated, none can tell; but the cattle gather from afar whenever it is sung, and are then driven at will by those long rawhide lashes that pop like pistols, many times cutting out pieces of quivering flesh, at which the sight of humanity would shrink.

The lusciousness of oranges produced here is incomparable, particularly when contrasted with those sour, stringy products of commerce. We have tasted this fruit from every clime, but never have the Manatee oranges been excelled. How ripe and delicious they grow on those tall trees, where they hang constantly exposed to the rays of a tropical sun until March! Messrs. Gates, Whittaker & Lee have old bearing groves, while hundreds of others are coming on.

When we reflect upon the superabundance of natural products that flourish in this locality, with which to supply the necessities of life, can we wonder why one of the wrecks of once powerful tribes so long resisted the encroachments of white settlers, contesting for territory until nearly extinct, many of them suffering with the calmness of Christian martyrs, or the bravery of Roman heroes—thus regarding death with a lofty disdain? The Indians, like the wild beasts in whose skins they were clad, have been driven, by the march of civilization, farther and farther into the grass-water country, where, like a lion deprived of his claws, resentment has died for want of strength to assert its prowess, while, by contact with an enlightened race, their original independence has been brought into a state of subjugation.

In this portion of Florida the cactus-pear grows to an immense size. History mentions a peculiar tribe of Indians who once lived here with as little solicitude for their support as the birds of passage, especially in the pear-season, which was hailed by them as a period of feasting—their only labor being to obtain the pears, which they afterward peeled and roasted for present use, or dried and packed like figs, to eat on their journeys, while the remaining portion of their time was passed in the observance of their various festivals and dancing—their houses being made of palm-matting, which they carried on their backs—thus moving their habitations, every three or four days, without the slightest inconvenience.

The inducements for immigration here are equal to any in the State. Adventurers do not flourish on this soil, the residents, taken as a mass, being the best that can be found. Many of them from the Southern States, uprooted from their old homes by the reverses of war, but not disheartened, have come down here to take root and thrive again. Church privileges are enjoyed, in a church where quiet Christian people assemble for worship. Also three well-taught schools in the town and vicinity. Two good resident physicians, but dependent on visitors for a support—one of them from a malarious country, who came here to escape death. Here, as in other localities, settlers have to sow before they can reap, but the natural growth in the hummocks evidences great fertility of soil.

The Manatee boarding-houses are sanitariums, where more trouble is taken to please visitors, at less expense, than at almost any other place in the State. The tables are supplied with food visitors can eat, that will nourish them—not what the host chooses to furnish. I well remember with what a troubled look Mrs. Gates took me into the larder one day after having dined on lemonade. There was a quantity of provisions to gladden the hungry: almost an entire roasted wild turkey, stuffed quarter of venison, fresh-baked fish, home-made light-bread and biscuits, pound-cake, rich lemon pies—any of which would tempt an epicurean taste. “You are eating nothing hardly,” said she; “now, whenever you wish, come and help yourself.”

The remoteness of this point from the principal resorts is the only objection. Every one who comes says the climate is perfect. The streams and gulf swarm with fish. Visitors sit on the wharf and recreate in catching twenty-pound snappers, while at low-tide the rheumatic old men wade about in the warm salt-water, happy as boys just entering their teens. Let all those who dream of sand-hills, and only starvation staring them in the face while in Florida, come to Manatee. A pure sea-breeze pervades the whole surrounding country, the evenness of temperature producing a very genial and happy influence in pulmonic diseases, more than all the drugs compounded by any pharmaceutist in the world. The moon here shines with a clear, luminous light of two common moons—an indescribable brilliancy that transforms the darkness of night almost into a continued day, which has a tendency to bewilder, and make us think we are in a land of fabled beauty, more than a troubled world, to be tossed again by the tempests incident to life. This appears to be the native home of the grape-vine, where all varieties flourish finely. Think of the money that is expended every year in sending to foreign countries for the one article of wine, and what a miserable, adulterated mixture is brought over, only dashed a little with pure grape-juice, while the drugs introduced would cause any one with delicate sensibilities to shrink from the thought of swallowing! If a reliable firm were to come here and undertake the culture of vineyards, manufacturing pure wines, it would be found more remunerative than orange-growing, the risk being not half so great, as the wine is improving with age, while fresh fruits decay very rapidly, when being transferred. Invalids, in coming to Florida, bring their wines; whereas, if they could be furnished with a better article at much less rates, they would soon find it more advantageous to patronize a home-product, the compounding of which they knew to be genuine as the far-famed vintage of the Rhine. Wine has always been in use from the days of Noah to the present time, although brigades of men and women-crusaders have screamed themselves hoarse in proclaiming its evils and wicked influences. If the manufacture of wines from pure grape-juice was encouraged, this beastly drunkenness from strychnine whisky would very soon be abandoned.

Sometimes here, as in other places, the laborer is not rewarded in his efforts to raise a good crop, which, in this far-famed country for fertility and productiveness, is pronounced a fraud practiced by somebody in holding out inducements for them to come to Florida and starve. No person has ever been known to suffer for food in this portion of the State—as an illustration of which, one man has lived in the vicinity nearly thirty years, reared a large family, and none can testify to his having done a whole day’s work during that time. The safe way is to cultivate a variety of vegetables and fruits—something will thrive. Sweet potatoes are indigenous, and never fail, making fine food for man and beast. Sugar-cane is a sure crop, ratooning without replanting for six years, if properly cultivated, and, as it is never injured by frost, blooms and perfects seed.

Bees can be successfully kept, on account of the mild climate, as they can work all the year. Much wild honey has been taken from trees, which is a proof of their adaptation to this place. Patent hives have not been introduced, or perhaps these old-fashioned bees would not fancy so many apartments in their palaces; but it would, no doubt, be worth the experiment to try them. Bee-gums made from a hollow log, set flat on the ground, are principally in use. A good swarm is said to yield seventy-five pounds of honey in a season. No apiarian societies have been yet established, and very little attention is given to the bee industry in any way. Some planters have twenty-five or fifty colonies. Bee-culture will be introduced as the industry of the country is developed, and the sweet tastes of the people demand it. “When you are asked by the Floridians if you will take “long sweetenin’” or “short sweetenin’” in your coffee, remember the “long sweetenin’” is honey, and the “short” sugar.

Let all those who wish to avoid the long, dreary, drizzly days during March and April, in more Northern latitudes, when the warm current of life is almost chilled into frigidity, come to South Florida, and roam by the river-side, or glide across the quiet lakes in light canoes; ply the oar at night, when the bright moonbeams kiss the parting waves, or while the iridescent rays of dancing sunbeams shimmer under the brightness of a tropical sky.

It is now the last of February, and the sunny side of nature is beaming upon the oleanders that are bursting their pink petals, while the orange-trees are sending forth fresh leaves that envelop the germs of the far-famed Hesperidean fruit. The wild orange is in bloom, which freights the air with delicious odors, although the fruit is only used for making beverages and marmalade. The banana, which is cultivated as corn is farther North, has commenced putting up fresh shoots, whose leaves are to take the place of those rent in shreds by the rude winds that have spent their fury on this coast during the Northern winters.

The air is now soft as a sleeping zephyr on a summer sea, while the earth is covered with a fresh carpet of green, mingled with white and blue violets, the tiny forget-me-not, the wild verbena, the purple and yellow crocus, and other flowers of less humble growth, and more varied hues than can be described, deck the landscape with beauty, gemming the wild woods with loveliness, and filling our hearts with delight. Sounds of melody echo from sunlit bowers, where birds of song flit on airy wings, and the gentle cries of fledglings arouse the maternal instincts to greater exertion.

Every settler is busy gathering oranges, which will be ruined if left on the trees when they commence blooming, as the juice is required to perfect the future blooms. Young trees are being transplanted, palmettoes dug out, cows penned for milking, calves caught and marked—as no one can recover the value of a stolen animal not branded. Poets have called the rose “a child of summer.” Those rhyme-writers never visited Manatee, where new-born roses open every day, and summer lingers all the year. This vicinity, like most other places, has its historic record of various data. It is here the pirates Ambroister and Arbuthnot were captured, and afterward hanged by order of General Jackson. These lands were once the hunting-grounds of Billy Bowlegs, who defeated General Taylor at Ocheechobe Lake, during the Seminole war. When Bowlegs was being taken through the Capitol-building in Washington, he gave only a stupid stare or grunt at all other objects except an oil-painting, where, among other figures, was General Z. Taylor, at which he grinned with a look of satisfaction, exclaiming, “Me whip!” The old chieftain was a great hunter. When expostulated with for hunting game on Sunday, he very promptly replied, “White man have good book to read, and he work on Sunday.”

From this place Hon. Judah P. Benjamin, Secretary of the Confederate States, now Solicitor-general for the Queen of England, made his escape. Here he remained six months under an assumed name, with the pretext of desiring to purchase hummock-lands. During his stay newspapers were shown him by his friends, in which were large rewards offered for his capture; but his protectors scorned treachery for gold. He left Manatee, disguised as a cook, on board a sloop. Before they reached Key West their little craft was overhauled by a United States revenue-cutter. The powerless foe for whom they were searching, not being recognized in his galley disguise, ran the gauntlet in safety. While on his way to Nassau the schooner in which he was sailing, not being able to resist the heavy seas that it had to encounter, sunk, when he was shipwrecked, losing all his personal effects, and was rescued from drowning only by escaping to a small boat, from which he was afterward picked up by an English vessel. He was recently solicited to write an account of his adventures before escaping to Europe, but replied, “It is too soon.”

In this portion of Florida have been discovered bones of immense size, belonging to an order of animals now extinct—these being fragments of the

MASTODON GIGANTICUS.
MASTODON GIGANTICUS.

mammiferous mastodon and megatherium, which furnish material for study that takes us back to the earliest history of the world, before giants lived, or Adam was made out of the red clay, to enter Eden and participate in its primeval glories. When those creatures, that now only excite our wonder, walked the earth, covered with their piles of flesh, moving with majestic tread the uninhabited globe, the sloth was then the size of an ox, the bear as large as a horse. Portions of vertebrÆ belonging to the mastodon giganticus—a race of elephants that lived during the tertiary period—have been discovered here, measuring eleven feet in height, with a body seventeen feet in length, and a huge tail over six feet long. The bones of this animal, when exhumed, were found in marl-pits, or salt-licks containing saline matter, to which may be attributed their remarkable preservation. Their grinding-teeth were adapted to a much coarser article of diet than that consumed by elephants of the present period. They have also been called “the hairy elephant.” Was it not the mammoth megatherium that furnished the aborigines with material for pointing their spears and manufacturing their bone implements, the remains of which are now frequently found beneath the tumuli of Florida? The megatherium was a contemporary of the mastodon—a few bones having been exhumed in South Florida; but Skiddaway, on the coast of Georgia, has furnished remains of the most perfect and interesting specimens of this animal ever found in North America, discovered in 1855. This herbivorous creature belonged to an extinct species of sloth, which had ribs measuring more than three inches in width, and teeth nine inches long, its thigh-bones being three times the thickness of those of the largest elephant, with fore-feet one yard in length, a body eighteen feet long, and its massive tail two feet in diameter, which enabled the animal to balance its body while feeding, and also use it as a weapon of defense. The weight of its hind-legs and tail prevented it from somersaulting while cutting down trees with its teeth.