miles. He further added, that his farm was one hundred and fifty miles below Jacksonville, on Haw Creek, a branch of the St. John's River, and that he would furnish a horse and give me twenty dollars a month. I jumped at the chance.

While talking with this gentleman the second officer came along and instructed me to go below and assist in washing dishes. I was glad to do this, for it was very windy on deck and I had already contracted a cold. The waiters on board the ship were negroes, one of whom I shall remember always for the little disagreeable encounter that took place between us. Southern born, I had been taught to make a negro respect me, and even in my menial position I could not suffer myself to be bulldozed. Every time he came in the dish-closet to empty his tray in the sink he would make some insulting remark, sneer and brush rudely against me.

I realized my position. Knowing that the odds were against me, I held my temper to the very last moment. I told him to mind his own business or else there would be trouble. At this remark, he slapped me in the face and said, "Don't talk to me, you poor white trash."

I did not attempt revenge at that moment, although the blood in my veins was running hot with anger, but waited for a suitable opportunity, and it was not long in coming. A few moments later, as he was walking through a curtained door, carrying a tray heavily laden with dishes, I turned and caught him squarely on the cheek with a big coffee cup, which caused him to drop dishes and all as he fell to the floor bleeding. This blow rendered him unconscious, and that part of the ship was put in disorder.

I thought the other negroes would mob me before I could make my escape, but, jumping through an open window, I gained the deck and ascended to the officers' quarters, where I presented myself to the captain, asking for protection and telling him what had occurred. He listened kindly, and taking pity on me, a boy of fourteen, he promised me protection until we arrived in Jacksonville.

This affair was the talk of the ship until we arrived in port, and just as we were anchoring I was told by the second officer that the negro intended having me arrested by the city officials. Becoming aware of this, I informed Captain Hastings, and he volunteered to see me safely ashore, and also to place me on board the "City of Jacksonville," a small steamer which was to carry us to Crescent City, a distance of one hundred and twenty-five miles from Jacksonville, and fifteen miles from his home.

We left Jacksonville in the morning and arrived at Crescent City about six o'clock the same evening, where we spent the night. That day, as we were steaming up the St. John's River, I became hungry between meals, as boys generally do, so I went to the chef and traded a little imitation diamond ring for a couple of ham sandwiches.

I had not written home since my departure, consequently, that night at Crescent City I indulged in a second commercial adventure. I traded a gold watch chain for a two cent stamp, paper, and envelope and informed my people of my whereabouts and of my future intentions.

We put up, so to speak, at one of the small hotels of the town, for the night, and I bunked in a room with two men who were accompanying Captain Hastings to his turpentine farm, where they were going to serve as overseers. This was their second winter on his farm, and before going to sleep that night they told me many stories of the big plantation, its hundreds of negroes, horses, cattle, turpentine stills, and alligators. They took special delight in reciting the brutal murders committed by the outlaws, who at that time were roaming throughout the section. All of this did not frighten me, however, nerved as I was by home-sickness, and the fear of finding myself unromantically lodged in jail.

At Crescent City the next morning, Captain Hastings' private launch met us, and we moved down Haw Creek to his place, arriving about noon. The same afternoon I made arrangements for board with Jim Hughes (a young married man), who had lived on the place several years and who was head stable man.

Monday morning I mounted the pony which was given me, and was off for the station. I reached the station late that afternoon, making slow time because the roads were very bad and swampy, and by sunrise the next morning I was five miles on my way back to the farm with saddle bags full of mail and packages.

The pony was a sturdy little rascal with shaggy mane and tail. His name was Billy, and the more I rode him the more I liked to have him carry me swiftly to and from the mail station. Whenever I went into his stall to feed him he would always put his shaggy head over my shoulders and whinny as if to say, "I'm ready for it."

I stayed around the ranch a few weeks until I tired of the monotony of those daily rides, and even Billy could not hold me. So one morning I gathered my few belongings together, tied them up in a little brown sweater, bade all good-by and proceeded on foot to Barbersville. I took to the road early in the morning, that I might have ample time to make the distance in two days.

The road was a sandy one, leading through desolate, lonely woods, the same road over which the little pony had borne me many a time. It was difficult walking, for there were many swamps and miles of sand roads. I plodded silently and slowly on my way, arriving at the half way camp about dusk. This was a lumber camp, established temporarily, and I knew some of the boys, as I had been accustomed to pass there on my way to the post office. Often I used to make small purchases in Barbersville for the boys at this camp, and they were glad to shelter me over night.

We sat around the fireside, relating stories. By sunrise the next morning I was on my way, and at four o'clock that afternoon I strolled into town. I walked down the railroad track to where an empty box car was standing, and after gaining an entrance I proceeded to change my socks and trousers, for I had braved more than one stream between the camp and the station.

Folding my wet garments in the brown sweater, I strapped it on my shoulders, and walked down the railroad track, a hike towards Sanford. Nightfall came shortly, and I became hungry.

Through the dusk I sighted a small house, so I left the track and struck out across the marshy lands, towards it. After crawling under several wire fences and beating off a dog with my stick, I finally arrived at the door. I rapped, and at my call there appeared an old lady. I informed her of my predicament, and she went to the cupboard and brought forth a big chunk of meat and a piece of bread, which was eagerly accepted, I can assure you. I thanked her kindly, and turned back to the railroad.

By this time it had grown dark, and I was unable to find my way. I walked for at least half an hour, and then realized that I was lost. I stopped and took in the situation. The light I could no longer sight. There I was, lost in the swamps of Florida. What was I to do? To my right I sighted through the darkness an object which looked like a mound of some description. On investigating it proved to be a haystack. This, indeed, afforded a great treat, for in the side of it I burrowed a hole where I buried myself for the night. Being tired and sore from my two days' journey, I did not move from my comfortable nest until fully three hours after sunrise.

I yawned, stretched my rested limbs, rubbed my eyes, and crawled out of my warm, cozy nest into the sunlight. Strapping on the sweater, with its contents, I struck across the field for the railroad, and hit a slow pace over the cross-ties down the track.

Boys are always