Chapter One

 

Saint Julians River 

Copyright Bill Gallagher

Tampa Florida 

Deming New Mexico

 

 
 1.



     The young soldier trudged through the dry Florida sand, heading east, toward the foot bridge across Saint Julians river at Tampa, Florida.  His steps were large, but they did not account for much, really, because there was very little traction in the fine sand.   The sand gave way beneath his leather military boots as he walked, and it made him feel out of sorts, even ornery.  His was a striding, angry kind of movement, a slogging.   Yes, that about described it, he thought.  Like some sort of dray animal set about its work in blind and dumb repetition, slogging through the sand.  He felt uncomfortable with this thought, so he made a conscious effort to think different things.   It worked for awhile.
     This soldiers official name was Rifleman John Daniel Prestwick.  He was Johnny to his friends, and he was 21 years old.  His build was a thin medium, height around six feet, Welsh heritage evident in black curly hair, blue eyes, and an introspective manner, almost shy.  His beard was full and trimmed short.  Johnny was stationed with a fair number of his kind, which is to say Soldier kind, at the military station called Fort Brooke, in Tampa Florida.   Fort Brooke had been his home for almost two years, and he had a year and 4 months left on his enlistment.   Johnny had volunteered in Providence, Rhode Island, then, after training near Pensacola came orders for Tampa Florida.  He was a Rifle Specialist grade II in the American Army.  There were 3 full companies from the 4th Infantry here at Fort Brooke now, and various specialty units including the survey crews.  It was the height of The Second Seminole Indian War.  The year was 1838, and Fort Brooke was one of Americas largest forts.
     The Fort at Tampa was named after its founder, George Mercer Brooke, a General who was still in the Army up north somewhere.  He had begun to construct the Cantonment which bore his name in 1824, as a Colonel, achieving Generals rank before leaving in 1829.  After General Brooke had come other Commanding Officers, all good men who did as they were ordered.  The latest Officer in charge of Fort Brooke was Major William Goldsmith Belknap, a career Officer who would one day reach the rank of General if he lived long enough, but had not yet.   Johnny was slogging through the sand on orders from the office of the Major right now in fact.  A delivery of important documents to Guard Post West had been accomplished.  Errand complete, he was on his way back to the Fort proper, which was still a couple miles away.  
      It was Tuesday the twentieth of February, a good time of year around Tampa.  The best.  After Florida summer, the coolness of winter is enjoyed by all, and even though it is called Winter, its very mild and hardly noticeable when compared to the winters up north.  It never snows and only rarely freezes in this part of Florida.   On most winter days around Tampa one can go swimming -- the water warmer than the outside air, comfortable.   
     The sun was setting on this particular day, this February Tuesday of the sand slogging, and a stiff breeze off the bay made things chilly, about 50 degrees Fahrenheit, thats what it felt like.   Johnny's winter coat was heavy dark blue felt, and it had large brass buttons embossed with eagles.   The color of his coat matched his three-cornered hat.  He halted for a moment, took his hat off, wiped his brow.  That felt good.  He pushed his hat back onto his head, then began to button the front of his coat against the chill breeze, because the wind cut right through the rough-spun hemp cloth which were his long drawers, trousers and shirt.  He noticed that one of his coat buttons was missing.  Again.  Curse it to the nether region, which is probably where it was by now anyway.  Yes, straight off to button hell with it, where all lost buttons eventually end up, Johnny was sure.   
     There must be a massive pile of them, too, he thought.  He would stop by clothing supply later and get a replacement, sew it on, a future donation to button hell.  The real problem was this: technically he was out of uniform with the button missing, as his Officer In Charge, Lieutenant Walter Reich, made abundantly clear more than once in the past.  Johnny thought it would be fine if Lieutenant Reich one day found his righteous little self set before that awesome pile of lost buttons down where they were, ayuh.   
     As spastic as the lieutenant became over missing buttons, one might wonder if buttons represented some sort of extreme, even unhealthy attraction to him. "Perhaps it is fetishism," thought Johnny, "Strange things are everywhere."  
     Johnny did not wish hell on anyone, but he thought the lieutenant an exceptionally well qualified candidate for the hot place, buttons or not.  You see, Johnny was in the sad predicament of knowing much more than he cared to know concerning the lieutenants private life.   This knowledge had been gained accidentally, and no one else knew he possessed it.   The Lieutenant and his secret business associates would not suffer him to live if they became aware of his knowledge, he was sure of that.   The information had remained within, and always would.   The best thing Johnny could do was avoid the lieutenant whenever possible.    Avoid the lieutenant like a sickness, yes sir, and a stunning day to you too.
      Johnny shook his head, made another attempt to clear his thoughts.  
     Riflemen had two large pockets on the front of their military issue winter coats.  Johnny carried a small sheathed knife, razor sharpened, in one of his coat pockets, and in the other pocket were 4 or 5 hefty stones and his sling, made from rawhide.  He could get lunch rabbits with the sling everyday, and fowling was productive too.  He carried a regular issue possibles bag slung over his left shoulder.  There was an eagle stamped on it, wings spread.  Inside the possibles bag was a military issue powder flask, full; some lead shot; extra lead-wrapped rifle flints which were army issue in a small wood case, and wadding.  The powder flask was embossed with an eagle, very ornate and clear.  Below the eagle it said US.   It was brass but shined like gold.  
     Johnny carried his flint lock rifle slung across his back.  It had a new leather strap just for that, and he had practiced hours with it.  He could unsling that rifle and have it at shoulder faster than most men could gain the stance.  He considered the leather strap a vast improvement, and it was.  It cost a pretty, but worth it.  4 bits, American silver, the two quarter dollars had been saved aside from his pay for two months.   The silver made Old Liam the Leathersmith happy, and its good to keep the Leathersmith happy.  The coins also had eagles on them.  
     Occasionally Johnny saw a real eagle flying overhead.  It always thrilled him.   The sightings left him with a feeling of destiny, and meaning, but he did not know why.   He was impressed with the world.   He  saw many other kinds of birds, including some owls so large he would not have believed it if he had not seen them himself.  They made the scariest noises at night, those owls, until you got used to them.  There were a lot of Maker Ben Franklins favorites too, the wild turkeys, and though they certainly were wise birds, they were not wise enough to avoid hungry men.  Many of the big wise birds dressed tables regularly around Tampa Fort Brooke, and the feathers were prized for various uses.
     The foot bridge was quite an accomplishment, it consisted of large wooden logs driven into the river bed, and planked across, with a hand rail.  Boats able to ply the river were also able to pass under the bridge.  Bigger bridges would come one day, no doubt, but not yet.  Johnny was approaching it, could even see it in the distance.  On the other side of the river the wooden sidewalks began.  There was a road there too, well trod clay and oyster shell over sand.  That road worked very well for wagons and horses, except when it was raining.   There were rumors of some streets being bricked in the near future, and Johnny thought about that for a few seconds.  So many bricks, all laid end to end and side by side, forming roads.  Marvelous.   Brick roads were common up north, but still a wonder, all those bricks.  A great uniformity.
     The clay and oyster shell road ran along the east side of the river, the Fort side.   Heading south from the foot bridge would take a traveler to the Fort and the mouth of Saint Julians River where it emptied into the Bay Of The Holy Spirit, Bahia Espiritu Santos, as the Spanish said.  Good fishing there.   Many small boats plied the waters of the river and the bay.  Newer maps called the river after Lord Hillsborough, the British curator of the territory when it was owned for a few short years by the British Crown, though most of Tampa still called it Saint Julians: Rio de San Julian y Arriaga, which is what the Spanish named it back in the 1500's.
     If a traveler followed the clay and shell road north from the foot bridge it went clear to Palm Corner, inland to where the river turned west sharply. 3 miles or so.  Looking that way he saw a column of smoke rising.  There was always some sort of burning going on somewhere.   Busy men.  Like ants, but better.
     Johnny was hurrying now because the sun was setting fast.  He saw Flambeau lamps being lit on cue of dusk across the river.  The Lieutenant hunting with a few other men had shot two Florida Black Bears out here last month, small, but bears none the less.  There were panthers too, big grey-brown creatures.   He had caught a glimpse of a Florida panther once while he was on guard duty.  He fired his gun into the ground near it, to scare it away, reloading quickly just in case.  The danger permeated even the daylight hours, but was much worse at night.  
      The panthers were more frightening, but large cat attacks were unknown, where as bears had been known to wander even into the Fort itself, and became immediately hostile when approached.  The animals were drawn by the smells from the Fort and the small busy town that was growing around it.  Soon there would be no more bears to worry about, he was sure of that.  It was a soldiers job to make safe the land, after all.   Time is a tool.  Constant effort is repaid with constant change, which builds upon itself as time passes, like blocks in a pyramid.   Man would soon overtake this land, and all the surrounding lands.  In the meantime it was still dangerous to be on the west side of the bridge after dark.   Johnny slogged onward.   
      Sand purgatory was nearly ended for another day.  Back to civilization, and gladly.  Overall, Rifleman Prestwick was enjoying his Florida duty, but many times he looked around in search of an industrial skyline, like towns had in the northeast, and there was nothing.  The land was almost totally flat, except for a few small hills here and there.  The scenery consisted of large oak trees with grey hanging moss, patches of various types of scrub wood, and wide expanses of open sand, many times dunes for as far as the eye could see.  The views were different near water, but still of a type.  Wild and overgrown, or sandy.   He wondered how the survey teams could do it, out in the wilderness for months at a time, camping every night, no baths except for swimming in the springs, one must be born to that type of thing, he thought.  They could have it, and all the wild life to go along with it.   
      He entertained himself by looking down with purpose at the white sand as he neared the river by the North Bridge to Tampa.  There was still a little daylight left, and he had done well around here before.  His eyes picked out small shards, like flakes, of multi-colored stone laying against whiteness.   A familiar shape came to his eyes, from there in the sand.   Yes.  It was another!  
     A well made spear point had weathered out of a small erosion gully.  It sat up on a little pedestal where the sand below it had not eroded away.   Deposited by the indians, these incredible artifacts of a time-before were common around Tampa.  An aspiring craftsman himself, Johnny had a hard time believing that the indians he'd seen during his time at Fort Brooke were capable of making such fine, thin, glass-like weapons as he was able to collect in this part of Florida.   He'd found quite a few in his time at the Fort, and he saved them, wrapped in cloth, in a wooden cigar box.
     This spearhead had a reddish hue, and appeared to be made of some kind of local agate, which was it exactly.  Johnny could see light through the red stone when he held it up to the sun.  It was perfect.   Two months ago,  on an exploratory trip to a nearby spring,  he'd picked up five perfect spearheads in one day, they weathered out of the sand in places.  The weapon points were almost always accompanied by small fine flakings of glass-like local rock, and other odd worked stones which Johnny thought could be scraping tools, and sling stones.  He had tried some of these sling stones in his sling, and noticed that not too few of them whistled in flight.  That was very interesting.  They were accurate too.
     Many of the local agate spearpoints were sculptures done so meticulously it defied description.  Johnny had seen the local indians chipping stone, and the things they made were crude.  He himself had chipped flints for his rifle, and they were difficult enough that only one in three worked.  The beauty and sharpness of the weapon tips deposited around water in the Florida sand caused questioning and perplexity among all who saw them.  A number of the artifacts were found in a damaged state,  apparently used and broken during the hunt.  To be sure, there were some crude examples of these weapon points found too, but the better spearheads were fine hand crafted works of art in every sense of the word.  
     The agate that the Florida spearheads were made of derived from what would one day be called the Tampa Formation,  huge solid heads of coral replaced with silica over 30 million years ago.  For miles and miles and miles.  Possibly as a result of some sort of cataclysm.  A true large scale petrification resulted.  The spearpoints Johnny collected there by Saint Julians River were not, in truth, made by the present day natives of Florida, so his initial conjecture would be proven.  The agate spearpoints of such fine type which are found around Tampa were created and used by the long ago ancestors of the present day natives.  Those ancient people were from a time which ranged back to the end of the last ice age, 10 thousand years or more.  As times changed from the Ice Age forward, the environment became more lush, less harsh.  Most stone weaponry actually devolved in quality as time moved forward, because small game became much more plentiful and easier to acquire through less arduous means.    
    Johnny knew none of that, that was information in the future.  He may have sensed it, as people do, but not overtly.  Always curious, he had a good eye, and he learned well.  He also liked to trade commercially, knew the value of different kinds of money.   It is an Abundant World.  He was thankful for his body and the spirit which animated it, and the time here.  All a wonderful gift from something greater than him, which he was a part of.
     He secured the red spearpoint, another gift, in his coat pocket with his knife.  If material things have spirits let them share power then, that can only be good,  he thought.   He began the final 100 yards to the bridge, and was there soon.  He walked up the slight incline of the path onto its wooden surface, where foot steps really counted, and faced the bustling town of Tampa across Saint Julians River.  There were horse sounds, and music from the shanty pubs.  Raucous laughter.  More torches were being lit in buildings here and there as he watched the dusk gather.   Small open fires burned brightly in a few places.  
     He strode home across the bridge, his boots making hard rhythm on the wood.  The river flowed dark beneath.   The last red slice of sun dropped below the horizon.

 
                               
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     Johnny stopped on the east edge of the bridge, facing Tampa.  It was almost dark.  He watched the fire lit scene for a few moments, it stretched off into the distance, pinpoints of fire everywhere.  It is said that the name Tampa derives from the Indian word Tanpa, meaning Fire Stick or Land of Fire Sticks.   Johnny could certainly believe that just now.  For a second he had the wild feeling he was a king, and below him lay his Kingdom of people and things.  The feeling passed quickly.   A kings life was lonely and full of threat he thought.  Better anonymity within the mass, if that was possible.  He was doing pretty good so far.  Time would ultimately tell how successful he would be in that.   Fame comes with age, so there was no avoiding it, just like there was no avoiding the one deadly mistake that everyone eventually makes.
     And everyone does make one deadly mistake in their life, of that he was sure, because his Grandpa had told him so, and his Grandpa never lied to him.  The idea, the real trick of living, was to put as much distance and time between yourself, and your deadly mistake, as possible.  It seemed easy in the saying so, but as his Grandpa told him, that was self deception, delusion.  A deadly mistake happens quickly, no one expects it, it catches them unaware, then comes Death, fast or slow, Death comes, and every single one who has succumbed would have avoided their deadly mistake, if they had seen it coming.   Simple, but full of meaning too.
     Johnny looked left, which was north, and a short distance up the road he recognized a familiar gait.  It was Lewis, one of the card players and sharp shooters who accompanied the government surveying crews locally.  One of the guides.  He was a white man,  of European descent, and a rough one, about 35 or 40 years old, long brown hair and long full beard, a true outdoorsman, and a good story teller.  Humorous.  Johnny waited for him at the bridge.
     "Howdy Lewis, " said Johnny, as the man walked up.
     "How are you Johnny man?" Came the reply.  
     A visitor from the future would have heard what sounded like: "Hoo ear yee Johniman?"  
     Lingo changes, but the meanings stay much the same, down through time.  The popular language around Tampa was like pidgin talk anywhere, and even more convoluted than most.  The area had been steadily inhabited by European people, a lot of Spanish but a variety, really, since the 1500's.  A mix including the indians and slaves, with all kinds of dialects, local and foreign accents, personal histories, nuances of diet, popular sports, gambling, and on and on.  The language of Tampa during the early 1800's happened on its own, it evolved and devolved daily, just like everywhere.  It was mostly employed as communication among its users, but it was also helpful in identifying outsiders.  Just like everywhere.   
     "I'm doing fine Lewis, how are you?"  Johnnys accent was from the northeast.   "Em doon fine Loos, how ahya?"
     Lewis replied in his Tampa Cajun Pidgin that he was doing O.K, except for a skin rash he had picked up in the woods during his last time out.   He had gotten some ointment from the Fort medical officer, and it seemed to be taking care of the problem.  Lewis smoked a clay pipe, it was of the disposable type with a long stem, so that small end pieces could be broken off, creating a clean draw.  He offered it to Johnny, who refused with a slight gesture of the hand and a shake of his head.  Johnny didn't smoke tobacco, and did not plan on starting.  He had seen what it did to his Grandpa, who never lied, and who had stated in no uncertain terms that smoking tobacco had been his one deadly mistake, it just took a while to sink in and kill him, take his breath away.  Caught him unawares.  Slow. Deadly.  There were all kinds of deadly mistakes, not just a few.
     The two men walked south toward the Fort.  Lewis said he heard tell Johnny was up for duty with the 3rd Engineers Survey Crew, next round out.  This was news to Johnny and he felt alarmed by it.  He asked Lewis where he had heard such a thing, and Lewis replied that he'd overheard Lieutenant Reich talking to the head of the 3rd Engineers Survey crew about it.  This sent a jolt of apprehension through Johnny.  The Lieutenant himself would not be along for the tour with the 3rd, said Lewis, which was a glimmer of goodness in an otherwise unsavory situation.  Rather like a diamond in a pig pen, or a gold cufflink in a dung pile.  Johnny did not relish the idea of a trek out with the survey crews, some were gone for many months at a time.   
     As he had learned early in his military career though, it did not matter what a soldier wanted.  It was a soldiers duty to do what he was ordered to do.  Nothing more, nothing less.  Things could always be worse, he supposed, but he could not see how, right now.  With swift resignation he was already cataloging his belongings in his mind, packing them in his locker, getting ready to go.  Preparing.  It would be a good way to avoid the Lieutenant, at least.  
     He thanked Lewis for the information before bidding him to fare well.  Johnny had to report to the Majors assistant concerning the delivery of papers to West Post, and then make the excursion to supply stores, next door to the laundry.   The Majors office door was closed and there was no one around.   Johnny made a log entry and left the office.   Now, to clothing stores.  It was about 3 blocks from his location which was out front of the officers quarters.  The night was full dark and moonless.  He walked huddled over, following the slatted wood sidewalks which were becoming covered in windblown sand.  
     Clothing stores was a large wooden warehouse directly south of the Fort proper, near the small pier.  There were no big piers, because The Bay Of The Holy Spirit was very shallow in most places.  Tampa would never become a port unless deep channels could be dredged for large boats, and that engineering possibility was in the far future, at least another century in the future.  Johnny saw there was a lamp lit at stores, and was glad.  He went inside, procured some replacement buttons for his uniforms from the clerk on duty, signed the receipt, and left.  Stores had been closing for the day, and Johnny felt lucky to have caught them open, or it would have been a wasted trip, with even better chance to be discovered out of uniform, missing buttons.
     The smell of the mess hall mixed with smells from the river and the bay.  It was not unpleasant.  The smells of home.  There were soldiers about everywhere, walking to and from the latrines, or on other late errands.  Johnny hurried now along the torch lit Fort Road because he was hungry.  He had the evening to sew buttons, and to put his thoughts in order about the probability of duty well outside of the Fort.  Out in the wild.   He would try to figure some ways to feel around, maybe take a walk over by the encampment of the the 3rd Engineers a little later.   First, sustenance.
      The dining hall was well lit, shadows were stark, lots of military issue flambeau torches and oil lamps all around. There were wooden tables and chairs in rows.  It would seat  70 or 80 people inside, and as many or more out of doors at the tables under the oaks.  Most of the soldiery had eaten already, Johnnys errand for the Majors office had made him late, and there were only a few other latecomers eating at the tables.   The cook waved lazily and grunted from his seat by the back door.  Johnny helped himself to a full plate of meat and vegetables.  He saw cake as well, wondered if somehow that might be his one deadly mistake.  He liked it too much, of that he was certain.   Then he thought about the wilds of Florida awaiting him, and the possibility of not only being without cake, but a lot more, for many months.  In spite of the cooks raised eyebrows,  Johnny had two pieces of cake after supper, and took a third with him, which was gone by time he made it back to his bunk.     
    It was warm inside the bunkhouse.  Individual bunks were partitioned along the sides with wooden walls about head high, allowing some privacy within the enlisted mens barracks.  The building which served as the enlisted mens barracks was an airy single floored structure with a center peaked metal roof.   It was raised off the ground on masonry piers about three feet.    Johnny lit the oil lamp on the dresser at his bedside with a lucifer, and turned the flame up,  all the while ignoring the nightly party happening in the rest of the bunk house: yelling, crowd talk, a harmonica, someone beating out a rhythm on wood...the ebb and flow of soldier life.  
     He looked to his bunk as he reached for his sewing kit underneath it, and immediately saw the envelope.  That was not a letter from home there.  He knew before he opened it.  Clear orders to join the 3rd Engineering Crew in two days for departure as Survey Support.  So much for preparation.
     Johnny removed his hat and coat.  He sat in the one chair by the bedside table, up close to the lamp, opened his sewing kit, and began to sew buttons where they were needed.

    

Chapter Two

Saint Julians River 

Copyright Bill Gallagher

Tampa Florida 

Deming New Mexico

 

 
  2.



 On the twenty second of February, 1838, the morning of his departure from Fort Brooke, Johnny woke well rested and clear headed.  He'd slept pretty well, a nice surprise.  He figured it was because of the two days of heavy activity prior, getting his gear ready to leave with the survey crew.  Worn out was the way he'd felt when he hit the sack last night, then blank until the roosters crowed.  He did the morning routine, grabbed his shooters tools and the satchel full of spare clothes, his luggage.  He checked the lock on his trunk under the bed, blew out the oil lamp, made his way outside.  His orders stated that in the event another soldier used the bunk while he was gone, his belongings would be stored in the security cage at the Armory.  When he left the barracks he didn't look back.
     At this time in its history Fort Brooke was very much a way station and supply depot for military surveying crews.  The surveying of this new American property, Florida, had become the order of the day, now that the Seminole menace had been quelled once again.  This was something of a joke among the fort bound enlisted men,  the term "Seminole Menace".  It was spoken of with great seriousness by officers, though it was not actually backed up by anything the men could see with their own eyes.  The men thought the indians they knew were as full of menace as cow plop, and for the most part that was true.  There had been enough mayhem and belligerence to justify forts though, and well armed military troops, because random massacres of European people by Florida natives had happened many times.  
     At the beginning of the Second Seminole Indian War, in 1835, some of the Seminole leadership had organized a war party, which included thirty or so escaped slaves.   This Seminole war party ambushed a detachment of 108 soldiers, including eight officers, marching to Fort Brooke.  There was almost total annihilation of the soldiers,  because the soldiers were caught with their rifles under their winter coats; it was swift and brutal.  Thus began a program of concerted violence by the Seminoles all across Florida.
       This was a very foolish mistake by the Seminoles, but they were only doing what men everywhere have done throughout time: they resisted the conqueror, no matter how stupid that was.  This is an underlying law of the Human condition, it seems, and has not changed, ever.
     A predictable result ensued:  the Seminoles ignited the wrath of the American Governments Legion, which needed a reason for a really decisive war against the indians anyway, because the Seminoles would not leave according to the first treaty, and they were giving sanctuary to escaped slaves.  Giving Sanctuary To Escaped Slaves.
     The history of the Seminole Tribe is sketchy.   Some of the indians in Florida were the misfits and outcasts from the northern tribes, Creek, others.   So the swampy sandy land of Florida was something of a melting pot for indians who did not fit in anywhere else.    
     There were also long term, "Real" Seminoles, who'd lived in the Everglades since time immemorial.  These people carved astrological monuments in the coral rock of the Everglades, and were the first and only inhabitants of earliest Florida, leftovers of paleo people.  Now, both groups were in the way of the new owners of Florida, who wished to wring money out of the state as quickly as possible, with no worries from any troublesome natives.  This was manifest destiny to the government at least, as it has been since the Romans, and especially since the First Crusade.
     From what Johnny saw with his own eyes, The Seminole Menace was really just struggling to exist, trying hard as they could to obtain food, and liquor, not necessarily in that order.  In Johnnys experience the Florida indians were always receptive to help from anyone.   They seemed out of place, kind of like circus clowns in the Europeans world.  He would get a better view of things in the coming months, of that he was sure.
     The Federal surveying crews were expected to finish their work around this part of Florida some time in 1842 or so.  Johnny hoped his appointment to the survey crew was not a permanent thing, to last the rest of his enlistment.  There was nothing to do but put in the time, and try to focus on the bright side of things, as soon as he could identify a bright side.
     He ate biscuits and coffee for breakfast, and the mess hall was starting to get crowded when he left.  He reported to the surveyors camp, presenting his orders to his new officer,  Chief Surveyor Captain Matthew Gilmour, a middle-aged red headed man of great energy, who was full fleshed but not fat, well muscled one might even say, an athlete.  He was about the same height as Johnny.   After the obligatory salutes Captain Gilmour shook Johnnys hand, looked him up and down once, said "Nice Buttons", and introduced him to a few of the men whose names he would not remember until later when he got to know them.  The sky was a deep purple-blue with tints of orange and pink to the east where the sun was rising on another clear Florida day.   It was chilly, about 40 degrees Fahrenheit, but would warm rapidly.  There were no clouds anywhere.
    Johnny was introduced to his immediate supervisor, a Rifleman like himself named Ben Grierson.   Ben was taller than Johnny by two inches, but they probably weighed the same.  Bens features had been hardened by the elements over time, and all the men of the survey crew were of this type, around 6 feet tall, lanky but muscular, bearded, dark haired, with some, like the Captain, tending toward red.   John Prestwick shared some of those traits, but not all of them.  He hadn't been hardened by the land yet, but that was about to change.   Ben showed Johnny the duties, what was expected of him.   Bens last duty was at Fort King, a Fort Johnny had heard about, but hadn't visited.
     "Oh you'll like Fort King if you get to it", said instructor Ben with a wink.  He had a little more than a year to go on his enlistment.  He said he would probably re-enlist.  "Yep",  he continued, "Theres pretty women up near Fort King, the town outside the walls is a very jolly place, only there because of the Fort.  Its a good place to unwind, have a drink or three."  Another wink.  "Now look over here at this..."
     The instruction in new duties continued.  Johnny was to travel with one of the two supply wagons,  basically doing what he was trained to do:  guard things and use his rifle when needed.  He would take a turn in the drivers seat every third day on the wagon itself, driving, and there were other minor chores which were important to the overall smooth running of mobile support for Survey Crews.  Things like watering the horses,  making sure there was dry wood for fires, and the like.
     "Its very easy," said  Ben Grierson, "Once you get the hang of it.  And don't worry, I wouldn't call discipline lacking, out here in the field, but it is a lot different from what you are used to here in the Fort.  We have a lot of fun, laugh a lot.  Things hardly ever get serious.  If things do get serious, its almost always because of an animal, which problems are addressed as they happen, and not too much, thankfully.   Do you have any questions Johnny?"
     "How long will this trip last?"
     "Oh not too long," said Ben, "The last trip was a full year over by the big lake in the middle of the state.   Its hard to survey swampland sometimes..." Johnny must have winced, because Ben clapped him on the shoulder good naturedly, "To answer your question, once we get done down south at Big Spring, which should be in 3 or 4 weeks, I expect this lot of surveying will be wrapped up by the next new year.  Now let me show you one more item over here..."
     Johnny started getting used to different things.  He began to sleep well every night.


   
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     The farther the survey crew traveled from Tampa, the lighter the mood became.  There was travel for one whole day, south along the edge of the bay, then a camp and a reconnaissance of 2 days, at a place where rocks jutted out of the sand.   A fossiliferous outcropping, is what the Captain called it; colorful silicified limestones and corals, some were true agate. This was Punta Montalvo, and would one day be called Ballast Point, but not yet.  It was a low bluff surrounding the fossiliferous outcropping.  Easy access to the waterfront allowed the collecting of large oysters and clams, sea trout, redfish and more.   The Captain called it time off for having to be at the fort.  The Captain was an exceptional individual.  His ideas of surveying, and of other things, including staticity of the electrical brain, and the mental sensing of things through the interaction of the brain and the static field of the planet, even talking mind to mind across distances, seemed far ahead of their time to Johnny.  He began considering the possibilities though, a requisite action.
     Captain Gilmour said he could teach Johnny surveying if he was willing to learn.  Johnny said he was interested in learning to survey, but held himself somewhat aloof about it.  He would not get his hopes up,  and he did not wish to crab the opportunity by being too eager.  He would just pay close attention, and see what transpired.  Johnny was fairly mature for his age, and he had patience, a rare thing at any age.
      The survey crew was about halfway between Fort Brooke, and Gadsen Point, the latter being the very southern end of a peninsula due south of Tampa which juts into the bay.  Gadsen Point was also called Big Spring, or by its Spanish name: Punta Morillo.  It had been two Colonels actually, James Gadsen and George Brooke, who'd come to the area together on orders from Charleston fourteen years ago.   The inland point of advantage, the Fort site, was at the mouth of Saint Julians river, though it was relatively inaccessible except by longboats rowed from larger ships which anchored well away.    
       The only other option was to use the deep water at the end of the peninsula which Colonel Gadsen had set up as a harbor with long pier. The overland route to the fort from Gadsen point was 8 miles, but it was relatively easy transit.  It did entail ferrying animals, goods, and people with their belongings across the river at the very end of the 8 mile journey.   Many did the overland route to Fort Brooke anyway, following the road along the edge of the bay, because, when everything was said and done, it was the easier traverse, and also because most people wanted off the boat as soon as they could get off.
       There would be some equipment and supplies acquired at Gadsen point by the survey crew; some papers would be exchanged, mail exchanged, then a short layover for a week or ten days at Big Spring to replenish for the trip north.  There was a camp there with hanging racks and a small smoke house.  Even a bath built by the spring which was ancient and probably made by the original Spanish explorers in this area.  There was a lot of wood for fuel.
     Johnny was beginning to think he had been wrong about surveying in the wild.   Fishing with handlines, and hunting became the occupations, ones he did not mind at all.  He got to know the rest of the men as well, they were a total of 8 in this crew, running two wagons and four horses.  Quite a troupe.  Troop.   Johnny found some fine spearpoints during these days, they were fairly common on the sand beaches of the bay.  One had but to look.  He dutifully wrapped them in scrap cloth and secreted them in his luggage.  There was a sulfur spring at Montalvo Point which ran into the bay, and a clear freshwater drinking stream erupted right out of white rock at their camp, it tasted delicious and it was cold.
    After Big Spring would be a trip north, a good ways north, and west, out to the big water, the Gulf itself.  Esteenhatchee, and another Fort Brook, this time without the e, a Fort Frank Brook.  Johnny had not even heard of that Fort before.
        

                                    ==================================


       Gadsen Point was a small stockade next to a long pier.  There were many boats along the pier, and a large ship at the end of it, anchored.   Johnny did not have to go into the stockade, he had been left with 4 of the others parked under some large oak trees off in the distance.  There was a nice sea breeze.  It was at least 65 degrees Fahrenheit, maybe 70.   The horses would be watered at Big Spring which was very near, another mile or so beyond the stockade, along the bay line.  The water there was superior.
    The Captain, Ben Grierson, and Danny Smith the cook took a wagon inside, then emerged an hour later carrying some boxes of equipment and supplies.  While the Captain and the others were inside the stockade, the subject of snakes came up among the group under the oak tree.  Johnny got an earful.  Apparently there were two times of year when the rattlesnakes moved in migration across the Gadsen peninsula.   Those two times were extremely dangerous to trod in the daytime, and suicide after dark.  Thankfully this was not one of those times, it was at the beginning of winter and during the early summer when the snakes moved.  This was just March 6 or 7 by Johnnys reckoning, close enough for the figuring at hand.
     The first incident with an animal, a bear, took place at Big Spring camp, a few days after the visit to the stockade at Gadsen Point.   There was a lot of competition for food around Big Spring now that men and their guns had come in and upset the balance.  The bear had been drawn to the smell of butchered meat and fish which the men were smoking for the trek northward.  The Captain walked right up to the bear, and when it reared up he shot it in the heart with a very large pistol which first fizzed, then caught, then suddenly flashed, then BANG, the bear snarling and growling the whole while and walking forward until it just fell on its face in front of The Captain, who began to skin it while it was still twitching.
     The Captain was laughing.
     Johnny had not seen this aspect of Captain Gilmour yet, though it was certainly not the last time he saw it.  Matthew Gilmour was more than exceptional.  He was truly strange.   Matthew was frightening, even.  A predator in his own right, unashamed.  Just last night, around the fire, he had said that if you learned to perceive water vapor -- and it was more than just seeing it, it was understanding it too -- if you perceived vapor, while considering its place in the entire electrical field of the planet, then you had no trouble perceiving ghosts, they were everywhere, residual electric fields, and some did not discorporate for thousands of years, thats how powerful the generator of life is.   Then the Captain said something which rang familiar to Johnny.  He said the ghosts were there sure enough, one had but to look for them.
     Right after the Captain shot the bear with his cannon of a flintlock pistol, then laughed, the bear was skinned, dismembered, and smoked along with all the deer and other things being hunted.   The electrical fields of these avatars were liberated from their physical forms, from their meat.  Their physical link to the world of light was severed, their spirits freed to go home to the overmind, to go back, taking with them all they had learned this time, which is all that anything can take from this place.  Their representations in the physical world became life fuel, food, for better predators.
     "It is the way of things here", thought Johnny.  He supposed the electrical fields that Life generated were actually reflections of the alive spirits, in some ways, but many things became more clear as time went on,  though many things also did not.  Some things, the more one thought about them, the more opaque they became.  Perhaps there was a lesson there.  When opacity reigns, it is time to pursue other thoughts, at least for awhile.   Theres always plenty to think about.
     The survey crew could prepare and haul only so much meat, and of course more would be gotten along the way:  It was easy time and feeding time and resting time at Big Spring.  Replenishment.  Johnny had been faithful in his practice of searching for spear heads and other stone artifacts around the spring, and he was not disappointed.  He did not find a great number, but the ones he did find exposed along the edge of the spring were of a shape he hadn't seen before, and of a nearly unbelievable quality.  Johnny found them to be very inspiring things.  One day he might even show the Captain.
     The group left Big Spring Camp at the very south end of the Gadsen Peninsula, and headed north west, to where Floridas gulf coast meets the mouth of the Esteenhatchee River.    That would be the next mail stop, the next hot baths, and the last point of embarkation before the actual surveying, which was to take place east and south of Esteenhatchee, all the way down to the large Lake out by Fort Foster. Stone Lake.
     Thonotosassa, the indians said.
     The hard march began, and forage became the business of every day now: it was Johnnys main job, foraging, except when he rode in the wagon.  Then he foraged with his eyes.   The land overflowed with life of all types,  and a lot of it had never seen people before.  With his sling he could take waterfowl easily, ducks and white birds, and even turkeys, although the turkeys realized how things were fairly quickly.  They became wary fast.
     The group would be three weeks on the road,  but the days were fast and never boring.  Nights found them camped near fresh water when they could find it, and that was most nights.  Graze dictated a lot of that too.  They hunted for fresh meat or ate from the stores.    Caesar wrote about this situation in his book concerning the conquest of Gaul.  Feeding the soldiers, and hauling their personal goods, were the two largest jobs of any traveling army.   The actual job of surveying would take comparatively little time, according to the Captain;  it was the time en route, and all the support equipment and personnel which made missions difficult.  If one could fly like a bird, and take measurements from the sky with telescopes, he said, then the mission would be a trifle.  But men could not do that yet, so they must endeavor to get about the best ways they knew how, take the necessary legal measurements, and live through it.  No guarantees.  Disaster strikes in a moment.   Always plenty of deadly mistakes to go around, one must not delude ones self with twaddle and pretty stupidities.
      One of the Riflemen, a shooter named Charles Holloway, said it was like a never ending adventure you got paid for.  Charlie Stevens, the cooks assistant, said if he was not able to work out on survey crews he was not going to stay in the service.  From the look of things, there would always be plenty of work during his career, if thats what he wanted, and barring any personal catastrophes.  The Captain began having talks with Johnny, short little meetings of instruction, where points of reference on the horizon, and things like that were discussed.  Preparation.  Johnny was a quick study, and he had a good memory.  The Captain was pleased.


                                 ************************************

   
     The 3rd Engineering groups survey crew had been almost a week getting to Big Spring, by the Gadsen Stockade, then 8 days at the spring itself getting ready for the trip north.  There was a sand road that led north from Big Spring to a number of different forts, homesteads, settlements, and encampments already established in the territory of Florida.  Florida, like so many other things, had been named by the Spanish, one Ponce de Leon, because it was discovered on Palm Sunday (1512).  Or so it is said.  In spanish:  Pasqua Florida.  
     The sand road going north was not much, really, just a trench which had been worn into the sand between various types of trees, mostly large pines which stretched skyward like huge brown columns of an almost endless ancient temple.  Some parts of the sand road were worn down to the hard pan, other places were bottomless dry shifting sand which made life miserable.  The slogging was experienced by all and loved by none, especially the horses, who staggered about occasionally, when the slogging really got to them.  Many rests were taken under these circumstances.
     Johnny saw a huge rattlesnake on the first day out from Big Spring, at a place that would eventually bear that name, Rattlesnake Florida, on the very northwestern corner of the Gadsen peninsula.  The rattlesnake stretched across the road well ahead of the group.  It was almost 7 feet long.  Johnny pointed it out to Ben Grierson who alerted the Captain.  Matthew Gilmour asked Johnny if he could shoot the snake and kill it from this location with his rifle.  Johnny said he could.  Captain Gilmour said it was not a reflection on Johnnys ability, but he would cover the snake too, in case Johnny missed.  Johnny checked his gun well, took aim, fired, quickly, like that.  The snake jumped, and began its death twistings.
      Captain Gilmour was impressed.   He and Johnny walked up to the snake in the road.  Johnny had hit it perfectly, leaving the head intact, but nearly cutting the snake in two about a foot back from its head.  If one splatters the head with the projectile the poison of the snake becomes broadcast, like a splash, and can cause secondary poisonings to livestock who tread through it, and even men, a good thing to know.  As Johnny pulled the snake off the road tail first, the Captain told him to cut off the tail and keep it for good luck.  Rifleman Prestwick thought the tail of the snake a somewhat gruesome trophy, but like the good soldier that he was, he did as he was told.  It rattled still and was composed of 17 separate segments, a large one.
      The Captain waved the rest of the group forward.   They came through a particularly dry patch of loose sand, slogging from a standstill, as it were.  While the group was making its way, Matthew Gilmour instructed Johnny in some mathematical concepts useful in surveying, and he did it by relating the concepts to the incident which just occurred.  He mentioned the line traveled by the bullet, the line which had been the snake, the point which was the intersection of the two lines, and other points involved in the incident such as the Captains point of view and Johnnys point of view, and all the distances in between.   Johnny paid close attention, and found it easy to remember when applied as a lesson related to an actual event.  The others made it finally, and they all moved forward together again.
      Almost three weeks passed by with little to do but keep it rolling.  The road seemed like it would never end.  The land changed somewhat but not a lot.  They came upon a few hilly areas that created interest and took some doing.
      After one such area the land flattened again but took on a new look, and the vegetation changed subtly.  Smells were different too. The day was almost done and a place to camp was being searched for by all.  Johnny could smell water.   There was a river up ahead, close.   The road they were traveling led to a way across that river, and because it was the right time of year, the passage was quick and easy over a pebbly bottom.  There was less than a foot of water in the river, and it was almost perfectly clear.  The campsite was found on the other side, under some huge ancient oak trees, like being in a gigantic theater, or in an underground cavern.  Fire was summoned and some of the fellows ranged out for a look around, one never knows what one might find.   The cook and his helper began a meal.  A clear artesian spring bubbled up between their camp and the river, and ran into a small basin  before draining into the river.  Johnny watered the horses there and they loved it.
     Then a shot.  Not so odd, but followed by hollering and a high pitched yell a lot like a scream.  Matthew Gilmour already had his rifle and ran like a man possessed in the direction of the noise.  Another shot.   More hollering.  The captain shouted at Johnny to stay and guard the wagons, and to take cover for Gods sake.  Yet another shot.
     Though he had been trained well, Johnny had not joined with the enemy yet; from the sounds of things that was all about to change.  He felt exhilarated, and there was an odd stirring in his gut.  Could that be Joy?  As he had been taught he kept himself small, and tried to blend in while keeping the line of sight open, and the lines of trajectory as closed as possible.  Which means get behind something so you can peer around it clearly, with the least danger to your physical body.
     He kept hearing shots in the distance and once he thought he heard the Captain bark an order.  Then he saw something that made the hackles on his neck rise.  There were indians out there in the woods, and they were headed this way.  He could tell by the way they walked, like smoke, confident, menacing.  They were not clowns in the forest and woods Johnny saw.  They all had rifles.  Without thinking he shot the biggest one.   The group of Seminoles numbered 5 or 6, he could not tell, but one less now.  He reloaded like lightening.  The cook and his assistant were just getting into position with their rifles when a nearby shot rang out and a chunk of wood flew off the wagon, very near Danny Smiths head.  Johnny had seen the muzzle flash from the forest and he shot his rifle and was reloading again.   He was very fast at reloading and hardly ever had a misfire, maybe one in three hundred shots.  Johnny heard his victim let out a high pitched wheeze, and the body lurched out of hiding, another dead hump on the forest floor.  Johnny felt at once elated and relieved.  Until another shot rang out and a chunk of wood from the wagon flew off right by HIS head.  He ducked and took sight again.
     His heart was beating hard.
     Then, very close, two or three more shots all at once.  Then silence.  Silence for awhile.  A mans voice shouted from where the group of Indians had been hidden.  It was the Captain.  
     "Rifleman Prestwick, do you hear me?"
     "Yes Sir!"
     "Have you lost any men?"
     "Not that I know of sir!"
     Danny Smith, the cook, shouted out from where he was that he was fine "...and so's Chuck.".
     The Captains voice again:
     "Very well, we have eliminated this last group of Seminoles, and we are coming out now, cease your fire."
     The Captain and two other men walked out through the trees.
     That only totaled 6.
     It was then that any joy of battle ceased for Johnny.  Reality forced itself upon him and had its way with his mind and his soul.  Get used to it, because Life is full of it, these are the inevitable things that happen to men, and each are affected differently by them, each carries away a different set of baggage from happenstance such as this.  Except for the very rare, let us say diabolical personalities, the baggage is not nice in any way, it is burdensome and frightening.  Forever.  It is the stuff of nightmares.  It is forever.

Chapter Three

 

 

 Saint Julians River 

 Copyright Bill Gallagher

Tampa Florida 

Deming New Mexico

 

 

  3.




     This is the Obscene World Of Flesh.       
     Here reside animated machines made of sun and rain and dirt.  Combined and recombined, broken down to pieces, refined, again, energy flowing to the future in wondrous self assembly.  This magical mix, powered by other dimensional forces, and possessing a physical memory of monstrous proportion, facilitates the Creators presence in this reality.  The Creator is an Engine of Construction, a coded vortex program penetrating the World Of Light.
       The Creator Is You.
       Creation is your purpose.  It is what you do.  Your being is a powered balance, a crux among the worlds, dependent on the magnificent machine which is your body, you author true moments within the infinite possible dimensions.  As long as you last you create reality in the World Of Light.  
     You are here so The Creator can be here.  
     It cannot be more simply defined.
      Reality being what it is, many times conflict occurs, there is an uneven melding where forces collide, death happens.  And things wear out.  Deadly mistakes are really just deadly moments, unavoidable, they are the point where an organism, an engine, stops creating.  There is not really an end to Lifes force though, Lifes memory.  The Creator does not end.  
     Imagine yourself as a very slow reflection of the sun, light being further converted to finer and finer forms, through you, before finally being cast back into space, into infinity, a reflected energy helix so intricate it cannot be imagined, ceasing only when all light is collected into one point, again.  This is much easier to understand in the other world, not such a struggle to see as it is here.  The other world has its charms, its PERSPECTIVE, but it is not the World Of Light.  In this physical reality, the World Of Light, everything is literally made of light, even matter is made of light, it is pure pure energy, a concentrated form of energy, densely constructed electromagnetic fields with self assembling properties.  Tight Light.  High Order.  Perhaps the most finely derived coherent form of matter is light, its milieu both playground and classroom for Id Entities.
     Identities.  
     Souls.  
     Pain is fleet, but Identity is Forever.
      One of the men in the surveyors group had been lost, as an engine he was irretrievably broken, his identity was no longer secured to physical reality because his body was no longer capable of creating moments.  He had unwittingly walked right into a hunting camp of Seminoles, all adult males, and one of them shot him in his heart without thinking.   These were not the civilized Seminoles from around Fort Brooke, oh no.  These were WILD Seminoles, Johnny had seen the difference very quickly, and the other men already knew.  These wild Seminoles were hostile combatants, unashamed of using their enemies technology against them, proud of it in fact.  Defiant, and very easy to pull a trigger.  Death Wish.
      The soldier who the indians shot discharged his weapon upon being struck by the enemy ball, but shot wild.  His name was Roger Wolfe, yet another casualty in the seemingly endless drama of violence and conquest which so far has been the human condition.  Rifleman Wolfes hunting partner was with his body now, and quick time would be made to achieve a field funeral for the fallen man.  There would be a mass grave burial for the Seminoles.   
      Dead Roger Wolfes hunting partner,  Charles Holloway, had been walking nearby but out of sight of the Seminoles when Wolfe had been shot to death.  Holloway sniped the enemy camp, knocking down one of the Seminoles, who did not get back up.  He drew fire to himself, but was able to dodge behind a large pine tree and reload.  He took another of the Seminoles with his second shot, killed him outright.  Two more men,  Captain Matthew Gilmour and Rifleman Shane Paruche arrived then and the shooting became regular and calculated and deadly.  Each of the men comprising the survey crew, from the Captain down, had fired thousands of balls just during the last few years, and every soldier made practice on a regular basis.  Lead was cheap, flint was free, and powder was made to be used before the dampness got to it.  The Seminole who unthinkingly shot Rifleman Roger Wolfe had rained destruction down upon his own head, and the heads of his tribesmen.  The Hounds Of Hell.  Rome reborn twenty centuries old.   
      The five Seminoles passing by Johnny Prestwicks position at the wagons had been fleeing the scene, but ran into a deadly hornets nest instead.   Johnny had gotten his two, and the three men in the Captains group had come up undetected from behind, 3 Seminoles 3 Musket Balls.  The. Obscene. World. Of. Flesh.  There was a total of 11 Seminoles.  Their physical loss was total.
      If it had been up to the Seminoles it would have been the other way around.
      Military training and equipment are Very Serious Things in the land of the predator, and are not to be scoffed at.  The more wealthy a nation, the greater its military.  There is no recourse but force.  It is the law of this land, and always has been.  Any propaganda to the contrary is without foundation.  Events speak louder than words, and events have been in the very least repetitive, if not redundant.  Even banal.
      It was thought by the United States military that there were less than 5000 Seminoles in the entire state of Florida, but many of those were considered hostile because massacres of European settlers were known to happen with some regularity.  It was why the military was here, it was a true state of war.  Add the fact that this was the SECOND Seminole Indian War, and one may see that not only was the military established throughout all of Florida, but it now had some years of experience to draw upon, too.   According to the Second Treaty, Seminoles either had to go west, or stay on their reservation in the Everglades.  The Second Seminole Indian War was enforcement of that.   The well established military and a burgeoning industry up north allowed consolidation of the Union to proceed at a frenetic pace, and so it did.    
      The Captain said it most eloquently as the seven remaining surveyors stood around the grave of their fallen comrade:    
      "We must try our hardest to bring about about a better world, even though our mistakes sometimes lead us astray.  Action is superior to rest, in the World Of Light.  Time is not to be wasted.  There will be plenty of time for rest and darkness later."  
      Without thinking Johnny said "Amen", and the rest of the men repeated it, several emphatically.     
      During the burial of the indians it was noted that at least 2 of the "Indians" were really Negroes, escaped slaves.  Johnny had met Negroes in his life, they seemed somewhat childlike, full of enjoyment whenever they could create it, in spite of the world at large.   They were a large part of early America whether they, or anyone else, liked it or not.  Johnny had never really been able to comprehend slavery, though it was well established in the world, and had been for many thousands of years.  The slaves were coming far fast he thought.  From a stone age hunting culture to guns and industrial machines and motors in one generation.  The indians too.  The ones that lived.  Everyone was in for a short wild ride, and the best one could hope for was to prolong the ride, get the most out of their penny.  Those dead Seminoles and Negroes, their ride was over, their penny was up.  Roger Wolfes was too.    
 
 
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      Camp was vacated early the next morning.  The remaining 7 men were on their way north again, though not as light hearted as they had been just the day before.   A large stone from the river was placed on the grave of Rifleman Roger Wolfe, and the Captain noted the exact location of the grave in the survey journal, for future reference, in case it became necessary to retrieve the body later.   The Seminole Indians grave had been left unmarked near a very large oak tree.   
       All the men were glad to leave this place of death.  The natural beauty of the area was hidden now behind a pall of morbid haziness, created inside their minds, fabricated by themselves from dread and superstition, obscuring their vision from the inside out.  A dis-ease.  This pall of dread hanging over the troops would pass, but it would forever be renewed too.     
      Peoples memories generally sort themselves with the more pleasant to the front, and the less pleasant to the rear, a saving grace.   
      About middle day the group came upon a clear spring which literally bubbled out of the earth to form a small pond below it.  The men stopped to take a rest, and to refresh the horses.    Johnny had a moment so he walked a sandy area around the edge of the pond, and he began to see flakes of stone.  He let his eyes adjust a little to the shade created by some large oaks, which grew to fantastic size near these Florida water sources.  The moss was thick in these old oaks, it looked like long gray wizards beards.  When dried this moss was a good usable commodity as cushion stuffing.
       Johnny could hear some kind of far distant but rhythmic knocking noise, he wondered what it could be.  He was startled by the thought that perhaps the noises were native drums announcing the deaths of comrades....but this line of thinking was foolishness, it was not possible, and besides the knock knock knocking did not sound like drums at all, though he could not really say what it might be.   Johnny began to search the sandy area above the waters edge.  It was not long before he found another beautiful spearpoint for his collection, a collection which was growing fast and becoming almost cumbersome.   This point was pink and glass-like, about as long as his palm was wide.  He held it up to a ray of light streaming down through the oak trees.  The stone glowed translucent.  Amazing.
      Johnny had thought himself alone, and was slightly disturbed to hear a low whistle from about ten feet away, even though it was a whistle of appreciation.  He turned and looked behind himself to see Matthew Gilmour standing there, he'd been going somewhere and had walked by as Johnny held the spearpoint up to the sunlight.  Johnny felt chagrin at his secret being discovered, but immediately thought better of it.  This was The Captain, if anyone could appreciate these stone works of art for what they were it was The Captain.   The Captain waited expectantly.
      "They are weapons from a time before..."  Johnny knew it sounded funny but it was the truth.  He held the spearpoint out to Captain Gilmour, who walked forward and took the artifact of stone with what could only be called reverence.   He observed it closely, a Hmmph here, an Ah there, as was his way, then handed it back to Johnny.   The men looked each other in the eyes and a spark of understanding  passed between them, there were no words, and there did not have to be.  The spearhead spoke volumes to people who understood certain things.  The necessity of eating.  The wild, unbridled planet, with all its beasts, and what it takes to live here.  Volumes.   
       Johnny began to tell the Captain of his discovery and exploitation of these tradeable and perhaps even saleable works of art which he had seen no where else in all his travels.  His Grandpa had taken him hunting birds out in the harvested fall fields of his home state, and there had been found arrowheads of a sort, but crude, chunky, and made from grey and brown materials mostly.  These were still dutifully collected, because they were interesting and could be used in trade among some men.     
      "These Florida agate spearheads are the most well made and colorful types I have ever come across," finished Johnny.
      "Well John Prestwick," said the Captain, "Thanks very much for the instruction, and perhaps I will be able to repay in kind one day soon."  The Captains eyes were already scanning the sand below their feet for shards, as Johnny had explained.   
 
      
                              **********************************


     After lunch, which consisted of strong coffee, some bread made from cornmeal, and the last of 2 smoked turkeys, things lightened up among the men a little.  Already blessed forgetfulness was blanketing their minds, helping them look forward to what might be, and away from what was.  The knocking sounds, though sporadic, continued, and got progressively louder as they traveled north.  Johnny began smelling odors he associated with Tampa Bay, but Tampa was at least 100 miles south of them now.  What he was smelling was the Gulf Of Mexico.  After leaving Tampa they had followed a road which roughly paralleled the sea-like gulf, but that road had kept them inland 30 or more miles.  Now this same long road was coming closer to the gulf, and would eventually end near the mouth of the Esteenhatchee River.
    Finally the survey group came into a clearing, and off to the left was the open blue of the Gulf of Mexico.  There was only the slightest chop on the surface of the water, along with a chilly onshore breeze which rustled all the fronded plants, making sounds like slithery canastas.  Seagulls dipped and swung here and there.   In spite of the sounds from the Gulf, the knocking noises which Johnny had been hearing all afternoon were now very loud.  Everyone else seemed either oblivious, or took the knockings for granted, which meant they knew what they were.  Either way they were not afraid and Johnny thought it in his best interest to play it close, and let things unfold in their due course.
     Within 15 minutes the road along the gulf became a Shell Covered Road, very nice.  Civilization!  All around Florida were many thousands of huge indian trash piles consisting of shells left over from an immense shell fishery.  When hauled off and used to pave roads this shell was superior in strength and drainage.  Sometimes after a rain, and if one looked, pieces of pottery and even bones were also evident among the shell hauled in to pave the roads, but all was quickly ground to dust by the big wagon wheels that traveled the ways.
    The knocking noises had ceased abruptly just a few minutes before.  As the group rounded a last turn in the road it quickly became obvious to John Prestwick what all that was about: part of a fairly large boat yard lie right before them, on the edge of a wide dark slow moving river.  The boatyard took up spots on both banks, north and south, and several different kinds of craft were being repaired and even built.    One of the workers saw the group and hailed it, waving his hat and hollering.  The others saw the activity and joined him.  Johnny looked at the Captain and he was smiling.  The other men were smiling too.  Then, a loud boom off to their right.  A cannon! Civilization indeed.  From the sound of the cannon report the fort was up the river about a mile, and probably on the other side.  This was proven to be a correct assessment.
     Upon entering the boatyard the men milled about shaking hands and it was easy to see that this had happened before.  Many of the men knew each other from times past.  As the introductions and greetings were made the entire group moved toward the river, and it was then Johnny saw the ferry barges for moving cargo across the Esteenhatchee.  The area was lush, and huge trees abounded everywhere.  Roads were really just pathways between trees.  Two such trees across from each other on either bank had been enlisted to serve as barge posts; large ropes and chains with pulleys were used to secure the barges to these tow ropes and to their moorings.  Instructions were given and everyone got busy, most of the equipment would be locked up in the north boatyard, because this was as far north as they were going as a unit.  The visit to the fort on the other side of the river was just a short vacation before the real work began.  After their 3 day leave at Fort Frank Brook the surveyors would regroup at the boatyard near the mouth of the Esteenhatchee river, then they would travel to where the river turns sharply north.  There the survey group would cross the river and continue east, launching off into the vastness beyond.  That trek would take them to their work, starting near a lovely place locally known and even officially recorded as "Devils Garden", all the way down to Stone lake, Thonotosassa, then back to Tampa.  Rough country.  Uncharted country, but only for a little while longer.
                                                                    

                      **************************************



     It was somewhere around March 25, by Johnnys loose reckoning.  Time didn't really matter on this duty, not in the usual way, not in a strict sense.  It had very little bearing on getting things done.  Day and Night ruled the perceptions, and though he kept notches on a stick, he thought he may have missed one or two somewhere along the line.  He was sure it was close to the end of March, 1838.
       The barge ride across the river was uneventful, the deep water was tinged brown by mud, and it flowed steadily, but the barge operators were old hands and the whole trip across the river lasted only minutes.  Johnny would be surprised if the width of the river exceeded five hundred feet.  The fort was perched atop a hill which sloped up from the river, it was about one half mile from the front of the fort to the rivers edge.  The air smelled of pine trees and salt water and smoke.  The character of the river changed radically as one went upstream, it became deeper for one thing, and much more clear, like spring water, the bottom plainly visible.
       The fort was wooden, made from local pine and other woods obtained when the large hill had been cleared.  There was a sentry tower that Johnny could see as they approached the fort, and the sentry waved lazily at the surveyors as they passed on the road.   Johnny raised his hand in return.
     The roads along the river were shell covered too, but once the men left the rivers immediate vicinity the going became sandy, and that was not much fun.  Fortunately the sand didn't last long.  Toward the top of the hill there seemed to be some kind of underlying bedrock below the sand, making for good hard roads and grounds.  The road from the river to the fort wound around a small hill, passing assorted out-buildings and one large latrine at the front of the fort.  The land behind the fort dropped off slightly, revealing a few more out buildings and another latrine building, easily spotted because of the water tank on top.  Then nothing but the tops of many more trees, through which a road ran a straight line north.  There was supply from Tallahassee, they would later learn, wagons came once a month with a full load for the fort.  The loads included coinage from the mint in New Orleans for soldiers pay, foodstuffs and bottled consumables, some niceties, and lots of explosives.
     Everyone formed up at stores while the Captain gave his report to the Commander of Fort Frank Brook, a Major Tom Johnson, and arranged accommodations.  When Mathew Gilmour again appeared he seemed in rare form, his face was flushed, and his stride was more purposeful than ever.  As he walked by, Johnny thought he caught an odor of whiskey!
     "All right," said the Captain, "We have use of bunk area 3", he pointed to a low wooden barracks to his left. It looked just like every other barracks building Johnny had seen during his time in the Army.  "We will of course leave it as we find it, except if you can see any easily made improvements we can accomplish while we are here.  The latrine and showers are a short walk out the back door down the hill, there is a wooden sidewalk.  Settle in, clean up, and I will see you down at the river later on."
     That last sounded rather cryptic to Johnny but he certainly understood the part about clean up.  Rooms were assigned.  Real bunks!  Hot Showers!  The group was eager to enjoy the merits of civilization for as long as they lasted.

Chapter Four

 

 Saint Julians River 

 Copyright Bill Gallagher

Tampa Florida 

Deming New Mexico

 

 

 

   4.


     As John Prestwick exited his temporary quarters at Fort Frank Brook in Esteenhatchee Florida, his first thought concerned food.  Very distinctive odors wafted about on the breeze, and one in particular he found extremely enticing, because he had not smelled it since leaving Tampa, and that was Smoked Seafood.  His stomach growled noisily but then he found himself distracted by the sunset that was taking place in the western sky.  It was some sort of oddity, a reflection off the Gulf of Mexico maybe, which was only a few miles away as the birds fly. Even in Tampa he had never seen such a display, the colors were like a slow kaleidoscope, ever changing, and intricate.   He had once seen the glow of the north pole, aurora it was called, but this sunset put that to shame.  He continued to watch it with awe as he walked toward the front of the fort. 
     About halfway to the front gate he came across a guard station with a lone occupant, the inner guard.  He nodded at the man, who had a rather disinterested look about himself, as if he wished he were somewhere else.
     "Is it like that every night?" he asked the guard.
     It took the sentry a few seconds to notice Johhny was looking at the sunset.
     "Oh you mean the sunset, well so far its been like 'at most ever' night, at least durin' my time here, and thats 15 months an 28 days.  2 months an 3 days to go before I can get out of here, and I can't hardly wait.  Where you from?" he asked, then answered himself quickly,  "Oh you with them fellas come in onna survey crew, I saw the line of ya's comin' along the road this afternoon. Say,  would ya' like a nip?"
     The man held out a bottle of dubious distinction which he had hidden down below his chair.  He waved it enticingly at Johnny, who was not interested in drink right now, just food.  He told the man so, in as congenial terms as possible.  In fact Johhny was quickly becoming ravenous and thought he better move on before it started to show in his temperament.
     The guard introduced himself as Davy Shoemaker, and Johnny gave his name.  Johnny then asked about victuals, and Davy Shoemaker said:
     "Well, the canteen serving soldiers is around the corner to the left as you leave the front gate, down the hill about a quarter mile, though most everybody eats at the restaurant run by Cooey over on the river.  They got the best smoked shrimp and fried fish you can get anywhere, and they also raise bieves for meat, so you can get a steak too. If you go down there don't forget about yer new pal Davy Shoemaker, who likes to drink gin the best..."  Davy gave a bold wink and leaned back in his chair as Johnny waved goodbye and made his way quickly to the front gate.  The barricade of the fort wall was a good 8 feet tall, and as he exited the gate the smells on the air became stronger.  He thought he could hear faint music from the rivers edge, about a mile below him.  He began the trek to the restaurant on the river, becoming hungrier by the minute.   
     As he approached the place he was nearly carried away by the smell of the seafood.  The back of the restaurant, the part facing the river, had a dock and a large wood patio overhanging the water.  There were tables there and a few locals partook of the outdoors while sipping their drinks.  Johnny walked to the back, across the patio and opened a large wooden door which seemed to lead inside.   It did, and he saw that the place was doing a brisk business.  It was at least half full, and he figured it would only get busier as dark came on.  Everything was made of rough wood, the tables and chairs, the walls, the ceiling, the floor, the bar.  A large lamp on a center table was being lit as he entered.  Harmonica music from a dark man in a dark corner, low and slow.  John thought that might change a little later on, as liquor flowed more freely.
     Johnny was becoming less shy by the minute, not even looking around to see who was there.  He strode up to the bar and asked for a beer and a menu.  The bartender, a short muscular middle-aged man in a white apron, reached below himself and retrieved a black glass bottle with a cork wired onto it.  He produced a glass, opened the bottle, and poured the first drink from the bottle for Johnny, while saying "The only menu is on the board behind the bar here, I recommend the special, its the best deal and very fresh..."
     Johnny said he would take one of the specials.  He saw from the blackboard tonights special consisted of one fried fish, and 1/2  dozen smoked shrimp.  Along with the first beer the cost of the special: a silver half-dime.  Johnny reached into a pocket and removed a small leather pouch, from which he produced the necessary silver, and a large copper cent for the bartenders trouble.  This brought a smile from the man, who saluted his thanks, then walked to a small window in the wall under the blackboard and rang a bell there.  He yelled "Special" loudly.
     Johnny took a sip of the beer, which was surprisingly good, and hoped he didn't have to wait too long for his food.  He was again pleasantly surprised when in less than three minutes a heaping plate of fish and shrimp, along with a smaller plate containing greens salad and dark spiced rice, were placed before him on the bar.  Each headless shrimp was as long as his hand and as thick as a musket barrel!  The fried fish was a whole fish minus the head, scales, skin, and innards.  It smelled delicious.  Johnny remarked about the quick service, and the bartender said: "One more good reason to get the special."  The man winked and wiped his hands on a towel, then went about his business down the bar, where another customer, one Johnny knew, was already eating and drinking, and looking for another beer.  Rifleman Shane Paruche had wasted no time in getting the lay of the land, and he hollered and waved when he saw Johnny.  Johnny waved back, and with raised eyebrows and an approving nod he pointed a finger down at his plate, then tucked right into the extravaganza before him.
     As Johnnys hunger became less frantic he was able to take the time to breath, and to look around the restaurant.  The place was pretty large, and looked as if it would hold better than a hundred people, more if they squeezed in tight.  He noticed one table where a heated game of cards was taking place, though the players were trying their best to keep it from looking heated.  At another table was a family who had to be local, they consisted of Parents, two large boys just shy of being men, and one very pretty girl who might have been 16 or 17 years old.  They were all eating and talking amongst themselves.  Then the girl looked up, as if sensing his attention.  For a moment their eyes met but she was called back to the conversation at the table and Johnny concentrated on finishing his fish.  He heard a conversation down the bar, and it was one he had thought of himself.  Somebody asked the bartender what kind of fish was being served, but before the man could answer someone further down the bar said:
     "Its a Porgy, I eat them all the time up where I live in Maryland."  The man said it like port-a-gee, and his explanation brought a few hoots of derision from the crowd at the bar.  Someone offered the opinion that no porgy he had eaten ever tasted this good.  The bartender waited until it got quiet and then said he thought it was a type of snapper, they caught them in nets out off the rocks at the mouth of the Gulf.  The fish has a wicked set of teeth and used them to eat the crabs and barnacles off the rocks.  He said that before the fish was cleaned it was black in color. 
     "Personally," continued the bartender, its the best fish I have ever tasted, and I have had a lot." 
     Johnny had to agree.  The flesh was pure white, and not strong tasting, with an underlying richness that made it delectable.  The bones came out of the flesh as a nearly whole skeleton, and the meat was thick.  Still, the fish was not really in the same class as the shrimp, Johnny thought, finishing his last one.  There was nary a speck left on his plates, just bones, shrimp shells, and a smear here and there.  He began to drink his beer, enjoying it, feeling contented and peaceful.
     The door opened behind him, admitting a few men.  Johnny could see it was now dark outside.  One of the men was Ben Grierson who clapped Johnny on the back while hollering down the bar at Shane.
     "John, Shane, lets get us a table before they're all gone, what say?"
     Shane and Johnny, beers in hand, stood and followed Ben.  The family with the young daughter was leaving, so the men waited for their table as they got up.  Once again the young woman caught Johnnys eye and this time she smiled openly at him.  What a sweet thing she was, John Prestwick thought to himself, even if she was so much younger.      
     One of the bartenders assistants was a boy of about 10 or 11 years who looked a lot like the bartender in his facial features.  Johnny thought it was probably safe to believe he was somehow related.  The youngster made quick work of clearing the table, piling all the dishes and what not in a tub on a wheeled cart.  Wiping the table he asked the men what they would like and he took their order for another round of beer and a special for Ben Grierson, who was assured by his fellow soldiers that the plate was well worth the money.  Bens special and the drinks arrived quickly, and in between bites Ben caught them up a little on what to expect around the fort proper.  He stated first off that there was no curfew at the fort for visitors on leave, and the front gate was open for entry 24 hours a day.  Check with the sentry there if there is any problem.   He also mentioned a hunting party that was being assembled for day after tomorrow, the second day of their leave, and any of the surveyors wanting to go were welcome.  The locals used dogs to rout out wild boars which inhabited the edge of the swampland to the east.
     Ben Grierson mentioned it might be a good idea if they were interested in seeing where the next leg of their surveying would begin.  Both Johnny and Shane thought they would see it soon enough, and would be hunting for their own food by this time next week, so they were much more interested in hearing about the giant rope swing that had been installed upriver a half mile or so.  Those were always fun, and the weather was perfect.
     "Now something for you John. The Captain asked me to tell you to take it easy on the drinking and to eat well because you and he have special duty tonight.  Moon should be up in an hour or so and its nearly full.  He asked that you meet him at the pier on the river just west of here, you can't miss it.  My suggestion is that you finish your beer at a leisurely pace, while spending a little time in our sparkling company, then make your way down there.  Do you have any idea, boyo, whats in store?"
     Johnny did not.  In fact he felt slight consternation having to perform duty while the rest of the troop relaxed and played, but he kept it to himself.  He had told Matthew Gilmour that he would like to learn surveying, and it might have something to do with that.  He shrugged slightly, shook his head and told Grierson:
     "No I sure don't have any idea what we will be up to, but knowing the Captain it should be interesting."
      About that he was correct, 100 per cent correct.

                                                                 *********************************************


     Johnny strolled along the river road and the moon was just beginning to lighten the starry sky when he heard noises from the pier he was heading to.  Bumps and thuds, equipment was being moved around and it sounded like work.  He hurried along so as not to stick the Captain with all of it.  When he got to the stairs that led down to the pier he saw that the Captain was loading a rather large canoe with a couple boxes and some fishing rods.  He looked up and saw Johnnys silhouette. 
     "Well, there you are and just in time too!  Hand me that box and the oars and we will be on our way.  Careful with the box it has drinks in it.  Have you ever used a canoe before Johnny?"  The Captain was in good cheer and seemed energized.
     "Yes sir, many times, my Grandpa had one on his lake up north."
     "Aye, thats good then, because we have a ways to go.  Now, listen to me John, while its just us, here in the wilds of Florida, on our own time, doin' what we want to be doin', its not sir or captain, its Matt or Matthew, you hear?"
      "All right Cap...Matthew."  That would take some getting used to.
     "Now when we are back at the fort or around the other men or doing our job its captain or sir, but tonight is not that.  Tonight I wish to show you a few things about this place that I am sure you will find interesting, and as we go I will show you some things that you will definitely find valuable in the days and years to come."  He reached into a pocket and pulled out a piece of material wrapped in paper.  He broke it in half, and put one half in his mouth, while passing the second half to Johnny.      
     "Chew on this for a minute or two, and swallow the juice, then spit the pulp into the river.  Its the cap from a type of mushroom found around here, the indians call it the flesh of God, but what I found is it keeps you awake.  Like any of these things it should never be used too much, or in quantity, but it is a handy constituent within natures pharmacopeia, like so many other things."
     Johnny did as he was told, though he thought the mushroom tasted more awful than anything he had ever put in his mouth.  He swallowed the juice created by his chewing, and within a minute spit the pulp out.  So did the Captain. 
     "In we go," said the Captain, handing him a paddle.  "You take the front.  The box right behind you is for fish, and if you need something to drink or eat, just say, because thats what the other box is."  Matthew Gilmour gave a light shove, and the boat eased out into the moving river, heading away from the fort and out to the Gulf of Mexico.  Johnny found his seat more comfortable than he remembered in his Grandpas canoe, and he saw the boat was not really so much a canoe as a skiff.  There was an unlit lantern in a basket on the bow, and an oil can to go with it.  There also was a short handled rake, like a clam rake, for what he did not know.  He thought this kind of boat would work very well in Tampa bay, but saw it was built from leftover woods, probably a one-of-a-kind product of the boatyard, which they would pass by soon.  Ah, there it went, dark shapes barely visible and the giant tree where the barge was anchored.  The current of the river moved along well here, and Johnny thought the trip back would be harder to navigate than the trip out, so it would be wise to ration his strength.  He regularly dipped his oar, pulling, and fell into rhythm without even realizing it.  Everything seemed to take on a light of its own, everything sort of glowed.  He felt entirely at peace and strange information began winding its way through his mind.  Of course he thought of the girl, it was the way he was made, and he saw her in ways that were not possible, as if he knew her.  The sensation was odd but not unpleasant.  He too began to feel energized.
     The Captain guided the boat into the middle of the river, then cross stream.  He obviously knew where he was going and the moon just got brighter and brighter.  There was no talk, so Johnny absorbed the full sensory aura of the place.  The odor of flowers was everywhere. Then:
      "Watch carefully now John," the Captain said.   He placed the skiff alongside the bank of the river, and tied off to a protruding tree root that stuck out into the water.   He grabbed one of the two very long fishing rods, and Johnny saw there was something on the thick end, something with feathers on it.  The Captain undid the feathered object and it swung out on a piece of hemp fishing line which was as long as the rod was.  The rod was made of heavy bamboo.
     "The fisherman around here called that feathered thing a popper, its a fish lure."  Matthew Gilmour let the current take his popper so it crossed alongside the canoe.  When the line became taut because of the current he gave the rod a good sideways pull, so the lure dug into the water.  A loud gurgling popping noise was produced as the lure did this, and after only three times the water boiled violently beneath the popper and it was gone.
     "Whoa-ho-ho" Exclaimed Matthew Gilmour  "Its a big one," and the fight was on.  The rod bent almost double and Johnny couldn't see how it would not break under such pressure.  The fish pulled back and forth alongside the boat and Matthew had all he could do to keep hold of the rod.  Then the fish jumped, tailwalking alongside the entire canoe, re-entering the water right in front of Johnny, who sat there astonished.  It WAS a big one! 
     "You have to fight 'em some," said the Captain as he guided the fish to and fro, "Or they will be too full of energy when they are lifted into the boat, and like as not they will tear something up or escape."  Johnny thought of the net his Grandpa used to land the bass from the lake, but those bass were nowhere near as feisty or big as these Florida fish.  He looked for a net just in case, but did not see one.  Then the captain just lifted the fish right out of the water with the fishing rod, which was  again bent double, and because Johnny saw it coming, and because he had done this type of thing before, he lifted the lid off the fish box while Matthew dropped the big monster right into the box.  Johnny quickly grabbed the popper with his right hand while holding the fish down with his left, and twisted the hook from the fishes mouth.  He then let go the popper and slammed the lid on the fish box.  The Captain looked quite surprised but recovered quickly.  Loudly he said:
     "Next!"
     Then it was Johnnys turn and he just followed the example, up to and including the slamming of the lid of the fish box on large fish number two.  Johnny first thought these were bass but recognized them as what the Tampa fishermen called sea trout, large fighters and delicious to eat, they were predators which ate other fish.  They had some bad teeth right at the front, and you had to be very careful.  These were even bigger than the Tampa Bay specimens, probably because they were not fished so heavily.  The men took turns catching more, because two could not fish at once lest lines get tangled.  There was a lot of action and they became picky, letting smaller ones go. Finally, Matthew told John to take the boat out into the current while he gutted the 7 large sea trout they had kept.  The trout were then layered with some kind of aromatic leaf in between them.  The river took the boat, Johnny steered is all, keeping in the middle.  He noticed it widened as they went and correctly guessed they were getting close to the open gulf.
     As he cleaned the fish the Captain talked, filling Johnny in on some of his personal history.  It would be Johnnys turn on the way back, but for now he learned that Matthew Gilmour was born in Kentucky, though his parents had moved from there when he was young because his father, a military man and also a surveyor, had duty near
Chesapeake Bay as a teacher on a military installation.  Matthew had 2 brothers and a sister, and he was the youngest child.  From High School Matt went to several colleges, for various things, and did well.  He was awarded a commission from the Army on his graduation with a degree in Hydro-engineering, specializing in Survey.  He liked survey work, because it was adventure, which was what made life wonderful, he said.  Then he let loose with a very interesting tidbit, this was his 6th time at Esteenhatchee.  Fort Frank Brook had been his first tour of duty in the military, over 15 years ago, and he had initially surveyed all the land around here for miles and miles.  In fact their next survey began where another survey left off 7 years before.  Esteenhatchee was like home to Captain Gilmour, which explained his familiarity with all things local.  Johnny would soon learn that many of the things around Esteenhatchee were more than just familiar to Matthew.   Many things were Well Known.
 
   

                                                         ***********************


     Within half an hour or so the 7 very large sea trout were safely stowed, and Johnny thought that was good because the rowing was becoming harder.  Two men were better than one, especially when one of them was Matthew Gilmour, because he was as strong as an ox.  Almost all the current of the river had dissipated quickly once the Gulf of Mexico opened its wide maw to swallow anything coming down the Esteenhatchee River.  Tonight that included two explorers in their boat, but other than them, there was not a lot about.  Fish splashed here and there and occasionally night hunting birds made noises, as did their kills, but overall the silence was nearly total.  Johnny thought that would change once any kind of breeze happened, but for now the air itself was still, like a blanket.  The Captain took control of the boat as the moon got brighter and brighter, almost impossibly bright. 
     "Soon Johnny, you will see something very few people have ever seen, and of those who have seen it, most do not believe." Matthew Gilmours voice was low and vibrant, as if taking on the aspects of the surroundings. "There ahead, do you see the mangrove island with the white sand beach?"
     Johhny was feeling slightly apprehensive but said yes he saw it.
     "Thats our destination, right up on that beach.  You will need to get the lantern lit, and grab that clam rake in the basket, once we get there.  But before then I want you to watch carefully, at the top of the beach, and tell me what you see."
     As the boat neared the sandy spit of land the moon glowed off the whiteness of the sand and Johnny thought he saw movement up among the mangrove trees.
     "Is there something there Matthew?  Thought I saw something move in amongst the trees."  
     "Yes there is something there John, but nothing that can bother the likes of us, now watch closely as they act out their eternal drama..."
     Johnny saw the shapes of men, two were in a hole digging, and two were standing nearby with very old looking guns in their hands.  Both those men had two pistols each, one in each hand.  There was a pile of small wooden boxes outside of the hole that the two with guns seemed to be guarding.  All the men were filthy and wore rags. Suddenly John Prestwick realized he could see the mangrove trees right through the men.  What in hell was this?  He felt the hairs rise on his neck, and his stomach did a slow roll over.   
     Then a small cloud covered the moon, and the entire scene disappeared.  The cloud blew away quickly though, and the scene reappeared, brighter and more distinct as their boat approached the beach.  Johnny saw the two men outside the hole each fire one of their pistols into the hole, presumably killing the two who had been digging.  They then kicked all the boxes into the hole on top of the dead men, and quickly kicked sand over the hole.  Then, incredibly, they turned the remaining guns on one another and fired!  Obviously each intended to be the last man standing, the only one alive who knew the location of the treasure, but that was not to be.  
     "So what do you think about that little life lesson John?  More like a death lesson, eh?"  Matthew was giving his oar one last push to get up the beach and Johnny jumped onto the sand.   Once the boat stopped sliding they both grabbed a side and pulled it up out of tides way.  Johnny got the lantern lit while Matthew opened the drink box.
     Soda water or beer John?"
     "Beer please."  He felt he would feel better with another beer in him, maybe two or three, especially after what he'd just witnessed.  Little did he know.
     "Those are real ghosts, John, damned for eternity, I would say.  Everything about that little scene is real, come, I'll show you."
     They took their beers with them and Johnny grabbed the clam rake after giving the lantern to the Captain.  They made their way up the beach to the area where the ghostly scene had acted itself out.  Johnny wondered if he and the captain had somehow been a part of that, if it was even possible for something like that to happen without observation.  He dropped those thoughts right away though, they led straight to another whirlpool in his mind which he cared not to address at this time, if ever.
     There in the sand lay the scattered remains of two skeletons, dressed in rags.
     "I took their guns the first time I came here."
     Johnny remembered the big flintlock pistol the Captain had used to kill the bear, early in their journey.  
     "No one else knows of this John," he continued, "The tides have eaten into the old hole and strewed what was in it across this whole beach.  So you see, the records of man, mans leavings, are not restricted to the ancient sculpture you introduced me to."
     It took Johnny a second to realize the Captain was referring to the Florida agate spearpoints.  Then Matthew bent over,  placing the lantern down onto the sand, and picked something up. 
     "Heres one already" he said, and gave it to Johnny, "Keep it, it will bring you luck. And now you know what the clam rake is for."
     The item was a roughly shaped black disc, thick, metallic, about the size of a silver dollar, and even in the moonlight Johnny could see the Spanish cross stamped on it.  It was a blackened silver piece from early Spanish days, the 1500s or 1600s.  It was a silver piece of eight!  The Captain was busy looking, and putting things in his pockets.  Johnny did likewise.
      Matthew said:
     "Theres many gold pieces here too..."
     Then there was a lot of busy silence for quite some time.