the john muir exhibit - writings - a_thousand_mile_walk_to_the_gulf - chapter 6
Chapter 6
Cedar Keys
October 23.
To-day I reached the sea. While I was yet many miles
back in the palmy woods, I caught the scent of the salt sea breeze which,
although I had so many years lived far from sea breezes, suddenly conjured
up Dunbar, its rocky coast, winds and waves; and my whole childhood, that
seemed to have utterly vanished in the New World, was now restored amid
the Florida woods by that one breath from the sea. Forgotten were the
palms and magnolias and the thousand flowers that enclosed me. I could
see only dulse and tangle, long winged gulls, the Bass Rock in the Firth
of Forth, and the old castle, schools, churches, and long country rambles
in search of birds' nests. I do not wonder that the weary camels coming
from the scorching African deserts should be able to scent the Nile.
How imperishable are all the impressions that ever vibrate one's life!
We cannot forget anything. Memories may escape the action of will, may
sleep a long time, but when stirred by the right influence, though that
influence be light as a shadow, they flash into full stature and life with
everything in place. For nineteen years my vision was bounded by forests,
but to-day, emerging from a multitude of tropical plants, I beheld the
Gulf of Mexico stretching away unbounded, except by the sky. What dreams
and speculative matter for thought arose as I stood on the strand, gazing
out on the burnished, treeless plain!
But now at the seaside I was in difficulty. I had reached a point that
I could not ford, and Cedar Keys had an empty harbor. Would I proceed down
the peninsula to Tampa and Key West, where I would be sure to find a vessel
for Cuba, or would I wait here, like Crusoe, and pray for a ship. Full
of these thoughts, I stepped into a little store which had a considerable
trade in quinine and alligator and
rattlesnake skins, and inquired
about shipping, means of travel, etc.
The proprietor informed me that one of several sawmills near the village
was running, and that a schooner chartered to carry a load of lumber to
Galveston, Texas, was expected at the mills for a load. This mill was situated
on a tongue of land a few miles along the coast from Cedar Keys, and I
determined to see Mr. Hodgson, the owner, to find out particulars about
the expected schooner, the time she would take to load, whether I would
be likely to obtain passage on her, etc.
Found Mr. Hodgson at his mill. Stated my case, and was kindly furnished
the desired information. I determined to wait the two weeks likely to
elapse before she sailed, and go on her to the flowery plains of Texas,
from any of whose ports, I fancied, I could easily find passage to the
West Indies. I agreed to work for Mr. Hodgson in the mill until I sailed,
as I had but little money. He invited me to his spacious house, which occupied
a shell hillock and commanded
a fine view of the Gulf and many gems
of palmy islets, called "keys," that fringe the shore like huge
bouquets not too big, however, for the spacious waters. Mr. Hodgson's
family welcomed me with that open, unconstrained cordiality which is
characteristic of the better class of Southern people.
At the sawmill a new cover had been put on the main driving pulley,
which, made of rough plank, had to be turned off and smoothed. He asked
me if I was able to do this job and I told him that I could. Fixing a rest
and making a tool out of an old file, I directed the engineer to start
the engine and run slow. After turning down the pulley and getting it true,
I put a keen edge on a common carpenter's plane, quickly finished the job,
and was assigned a bunk in one of the employees' lodging-houses.
The next day I felt a strange dullness and headache while I was botanizing
along the coast. Thinking that a bath in the salt water might refresh me,
I plunged in and swam a little distance, but this seemed only to make me
feel
worse. I felt anxious for something sour, and walked back to
the village to buy lemons.
Thus and here my long walk was interrupted. I thought that a few days'
sail would land me among the famous flower-beds of Texas. But the expected
ship came and went while I was helpless with fever. The very day after
reaching the sea I began to be weighed down by inexorable leaden numbness,
which I resisted and tried to shake off for three days, by bathing in the
Gulf, by dragging myself about among the palms, plants, and strange shells
of the shore, and by doing a little mill work. I did not fear any serious
illness, for I never was sick before, and was unwilling to pay attention
to my feelings.
But yet heavier and more remorselessly pressed the growing fever, rapidly
gaining on my strength. On the third day after my arrival I could not take
any nourishment, but craved acid. Cedar Keys was only a mile or two distant,
and I managed to walk there to buy lemons. On returning, about the middle
of the
afternoon, the fever broke on me like a storm, and before
I had staggered halfway to the mill I fell down unconscious on the narrow
trail among dwarf palmettos.
When I awoke from the hot fever sleep, the stars were shining, and I
was at a loss to know which end of the trail to take, but fortunately,
as it afterwards proved, I guessed right. Subsequently, as I fell again
and again after walking only a hundred yards or so, I was careful to lie
with my head in the direction in which I thought the mill was. I rose,
staggered, and fell, I know not how many times, in delirious bewilderment,
gasping and throbbing with only moments of consciousness. Thus passed the
hours till after midnight, when I reached the mill lodging-house.
The watchman on his rounds found me lying on a heap of sawdust at the
foot of the stairs. I asked him to assist me up the steps to bed, but he
thought my difficulty was only intoxication and refused to help me. The
mill hands, especially on Saturday nights, often returned
from the
village drunk. This was the cause of the watchman's refusal. Feeling that
I must get to bed, I made out to reach it on hands and knees, tumbled in
after a desperate struggle, and immediately became oblivious to everything.
I awoke at a strange hour on a strange day to hear Mr. Hodgson ask a
watcher beside me whether I had yet spoken, and when he replied that I
had not, he said: "Well, you must keep on pouring in quinine. That's
all we can do." How long I lay unconscious I never found out, but
it must have been many days. Some time or other I was moved on a horse
from the mill quarters to Mr. Hodgson's house, where I was nursed about
three months with unfailing kindness, and to the skill and care of Mr.
and Mrs. Hodgson I doubtless owe my life. Through quinine and calomel
-- in
sorry abundance
-- with other milder medicines, my malarial fever became typhoid.
I had night sweats, and my legs became like posts of the temper and consistency
of clay on account of dropsy. So on until January, a weary time.
As soon as I was able to get out of bed, I crept away to the edge of
the wood, and sat day after day beneath a moss-draped live-oak, watching
birds feeding on the shore when the tide was out. Later, as I gathered
some strength, I sailed in a little skiff from one key to another. Nearly
all the shrubs and trees here are ever-green, and a few of the smaller
plants are in flower all winter. The principal trees on this Cedar Key
are the juniper, long-leafed pine, and live-oak. All of the latter, living
and dead, are heavily draped with tillandsia, like those of Bonaventure.
The leaf is oval, about two inches long, three fourths of an inch wide,
glossy and dark green above, pale beneath. The trunk is usually much divided,
and is extremely unwedgeable. The specimen on the opposite page
[of the original journal]
is growing in the dooryard of Mr. Hodgson's house.
It is a grand old king, whose crown gleamed in the bright sky long ere
the Spanish shipbuilders felled a single tree of this noble species.
The live-oaks of these keys divide empire with the long-leafed pine
and palmetto, but in many places on the mainland there are large tracts
exclusively occupied by them. Like the Bonaventure oaks they have the upper
side of their main spreading branches thickly planted with ferns, grasses,
small saw palmettos, etc. There is also a dwarf oak here, which forms dense
thickets. The oaks of this key are not, like those of the Wisconsin openings,
growing on grassy slopes, but stand, sunk to the shoulders, in flowering
magnolias, heathworts, etc.
During my long sojourn here as a convalescent I used to lie on my back
for whole days beneath the ample arms of these great trees, listening to
the winds and the birds. There is an extensive shallow on the coast, close
by, which the receding tide exposes daily. This is the feeding-ground of
thousands of waders of all sizes, plumage, and language, and they make
a lively picture and noise when they gather at the great family board to
eat their daily bread, so bountifully provided for them.
Their leisure in time of high tide they spend in various ways and places.
Some go in large flocks to reedy margins about the islands and wade and
stand about quarrelling or making sport, occasionally finding a stray mouthful
to eat. Some stand on the mangroves of the solitary shore, now and then
plunging into the water after a fish. Some go long journeys in-land, up
creeks and inlets. A few lonely old herons of solemn look and wing retire
to favorite oaks. It was my delight to watch those old white sages of immaculate
feather as they stood erect drowsing away the dull hours between tides,
curtained by long skeins of tillandsia. White-bearded hermits gazing dreamily
from dark caves could not appear more solemn or more becomingly shrouded
from the rest of their fellow beings.
One of the characteristic plants of these keys is the Spanish bayonet,
a species of yucca, about eight or ten feet in height, and with a trunk
three or four inches in diameter when full grown. It belongs to the lily
family and
develops palmlike from terminal buds. The stout leaves
are very rigid, sharp-pointed and bayonet-like. By one of these leaves
a man might be as seriously stabbed as by an army bayonet, and woe to the
luckless wanderer who dares to urge his way through these armed gardens
after dark. Vegetable cats of many species will rob him of his clothes
and claw his flesh, while dwarf palmettos will saw his bones, and the bayonets
will glide to his joints and marrow without the smallest consideration
for Lord Man.
The climate of these precious islets is simply warm summer and warmer
summer, corresponding in time with winter and summer in the North. The
weather goes smoothly over the points of union betwixt the twin summers.
Few of the storms are very loud or variable. The average temperature during
the day, in December, was about sixty-five degrees in the shade, but on
one day a little damp snow fell. Cedar Key is two and one half or three
miles in diameter and its highest point is forty-four
feet above
mean tide-water. It is surrounded by scores of other keys, many of them
looking like a clump of palms, arranged like a tasteful bouquet, and placed
in the sea to be kept fresh. Others have quite a sprinkling of oaks and
junipers, beautifully united with vines. Still others consist of shells,
with a few grasses and mangroves circled with a rim of rushes. Those which
have sedgy margins furnish a favorite retreat for countless waders and
divers, especially for the pelicans that frequently whiten the shore like
a ring of foam.
It is delightful to observe the assembling of these feathered people
from the woods and reedy isles; herons white as wave-tops, or blue as the
sky, winnowing the warm air on wide quiet wing; pelicans coming with baskets
to fill, and the multitude of smaller sailors of the air, swift as swallows,
gracefully taking their places at Nature's family table for their daily
bread. Happy birds!
The mockingbird is graceful in form and a fine singer, plainly dressed,
rather familiar in
habits, frequently coming like robins to door-sills
for crumbs
-- a noble fellow, beloved by everybody. Wild geese are abundant
in winter, associated with brant, some species of which I have never seen
in the North. Also great flocks of robins, mourning doves, bluebirds, and
the delightful brown thrashers. A large number of the smaller birds are
fine singers. Crows, too, are here, some of them cawing with a foreign
accent. The common bob-white quail I observed as far south as middle Georgia.
Lime Key, sketched on the opposite page, is a fair specimen of the Florida
keys on this part of the coast. A fragment of cactus,
Opuntia,
sketched on another page
[of the original journal],
is from the
above-named key, and is abundant there. The fruit, an inch in length, is
gathered, and made into a sauce, of which some people are fond. This species
forms thorny, impenetrable thickets. One joint that I measured was fifteen
inches long.
![[Lime Key, Florida. From Mr. Muir's sketch in the original journal]](graphics/lime_key.jpg)
Lime Key, Florida
From Mr. Muir's sketch in the original journal
The mainland of Florida is less salubrious
than the islands, but
no portion of this coast, nor of the flat border which sweeps from Maryland
to Texas, is quite free from malaria. All the inhabitants of this region,
whether black or white, are liable to be prostrated by the ever-present
fever and ague, to say nothing of the plagues of cholera and yellow fever
that come and go suddenly like storms, prostrating the population and cutting
gaps in it like hurricanes in woods.
The world, we are told, was made especially for man a presumption not
supported by all the facts. A numerous class of men are painfully astonished
whenever they find anything, living or dead, in all God's universe, which
they cannot eat or render in some way what they call useful to themselves.
They have precise dogmatic insight of the intentions of the Creator, and
it is hardly possible to be guilty of irreverence in speaking of
their
God any more than of heathen idols. He is regarded as a civilized,
law-abiding gentleman in favor either of a republican form of government
or of a
limited monarchy; believes in the literature and language
of England; is a warm supporter of the English constitution and Sunday
schools and missionary societies; and is as purely a manufactured article
as any puppet of a half-penny theater.
With such views of the Creator it is, of course, not surprising that
erroneous views should be entertained of the creation. To such properly
trimmed people, the sheep, for example, is an easy problem
-- food and clothing
"for us," eating grass and daisies white by divine appointment
for this predestined purpose, on perceiving the demand for wool that would
be occasioned by the eating of the apple in the Garden of Eden.
In the same pleasant plan, whales are store. houses of oil for us, to
help out the stars in lighting our dark ways until the discovery of the
Pennsylvania oil wells. Among plants, hemp, to say nothing of the cereals,
is a case of evident destination for ships' rigging, wrapping packages,
and hanging the wicked. Cotton is another
other plain case of clothing.
Iron was made for hammers and ploughs, and lead for bullets all intended
for us. And so of other small handfuls of insignificant things.
But if we should ask these profound expositors of God's intentions,
How about those man-eating animals
-- lions, tigers, alligators
-- which smack
their lips over raw man? Or about those myriads of noxious insects that
destroy labor and drink his blood? Doubtless man was intended for food
and drink for all these? Oh, no! Not at all! These are unresolvable difficulties
connected with Eden's apple and the Devil. Why does water drown its lord?
Why do so many minerals poison him? Why are so many plants and fishes deadly
enemies? Why is the lord of creation subjected to the same laws of life
as his subjects? Oh, all these things are satanic, or in some way connected
with the first garden.
Now, it never seems to occur to these far-seeing teachers that Nature's
object in making animals and plants might possibly be first of
all
the happiness of each one of them, not the creation of all for the happiness
of one. why should man value himself as more than a small part of the one
great unit of creation? And what creature of all that the Lord has taken
the pains to make is not essential to the completeness of that unit
-- the
cosmos? The universe would be incomplete without man; but it would also
be incomplete without the smallest transmicroscopic creature that dwells
beyond our conceitful eyes and knowledge.
From the dust of the earth, from the common elementary fund, the Creator
has made
Homo Sapiens
. From the same material he has made every
other creature, however noxious and insignificant to us. They are earth-born
companions and our fellow mortals. The fearfully good, the orthodox, of
this laborious patch-work of modern civilization cry "Heresy"
on every one whose sympathies reach a single hair's breadth beyond the
boundary epidermis of our own species. Not content with taking all of earth,
they also claim the celestial country
as the only ones who possess
the kind of souls for which that imponderable empire was planned.
This star, our own good earth, made many a successful journey around
the heavens ere man was made, and whole kingdoms of creatures enjoyed existence
and returned to dust ere man appeared to claim them. After human beings
have also played their part in Creation's plan, they too may disappear
without any general burning or extraordinary commotion whatever.
Plants are credited with but dim and uncertain sensation, and minerals
with positively none at all. But why may not even a mineral arrangement
of matter be endowed with sensation of a kind that we in our blind exclusive
perfection can have no manner of communication with?
But I have wandered from my object. I stated a page or two back that
man claimed the earth was made for him, and I was going to say that venomous
beasts, thorny plants,
and deadly diseases of certain parts of the
earth prove that the whole world was not made for him. When an animal from
a tropical climate is taken to high latitudes, it may perish of cold, and
we say that such an animal was never intended for so severe a climate.
But when man betakes himself to sickly parts of the tropics and perishes,
he cannot see that he was never intended for such deadly climates. No,
he will rather accuse the first mother of the cause of the difficulty,
though she may never have seen a fever district; or will consider it a
providential chastisement for some self-invented form of sin.
Furthermore, all uneatable and uncivilizable animals, and all plants
which carry prickles, are deplorable evils which, according to closet
researches of clergy, require the cleansing chemistry of universal planetary
combustion. But more than aught else mankind requires burning, as being
in great part wicked, and if that transmundane furnace can be so applied
and regulated as to smelt and purify us into conformity
with the
rest of the terrestrial creation, then the tophetization of the erratic
genus Homo were a consummation devoutly to be prayed for. But, glad to
leave these ecclesiastical fires and blunders, I joyfully return to the
immortal truth and immortal beauty of Nature.
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