Lippincott's Magazine, October 1885

The occasion of all this turmoil was a pillar of inky blackness, which, when observed by the writer, who had the tiller, seemed fifty feet high and about ten feet wide. Now it was a hundred feet wide, and growing with ominous speed. The easy quarter breeze that had been fanning us along mysteriously crept away, as if awed by the strange apparition. The laughing gulls that had hovered above the water rose high in air, uttering piercing cries while standing out in vivid silvery brightness against the wall of night. The sea assumed a bright metallic tint and rose and fell in uneasy measure, while the booming of the breakers on the distant reef, and the swash of the waves as our craft rolled to and fro, were painfully distinct.

"Cotch suthin'!" shouted Sandy, taking a round turn about the tiller with the slack end of the dingy's painter. Delicate furrows for a moment cut their way here and there over the glassy surface, and then with a roar the black squall was upon us, keeling our craft almost upon her beam-ends. The water seemed torn from its bed, flung by some unseen power high into the air, and borne hissing and roaring away. It cut and lashed our faces as we crouched flat upon the deck, clinging where we could. The sea rose as if by magic, and, with the wind astern, was driving us upon the reef which we had been encircling in search of a harbor. After ten minutes of the wild race with the squall, which now was as quickly lighting up, we heard the roar of the breakers near at hand.

"Put her up in de win', or we'se gone, sho'!" shrieked young Rastus, who had crawled aft.

"Gone where?" cried Sandy, his grim visage, dripping with water, now visible braced against the tiller.

Rastus's white eyeballs, standing out in terror, rolled ominously up and then down in answer, leaving a doubt to be inferred.

"How old is yo', son?" asked the old man fiercely, bracing hard as the craft yawed heavily.

"I ain't gwine to git any older, dat's sho'," replied the boy.

"W'y, yo' poor coon," retorted Sandy. "ef yu'se ole as Jehos'phat, I'se wu'ked disher reef fo' yu'se bo'n."

So quickly had the squall passed that its power was now well over, and the lighting up showed us to be only a few hundred yards from the mass of breakers pounding upon the outer reef.

"Yo' 'spec' to jump dat reef?" asked Rastus, fairly shaking with fear.

"Start dat jib," thundered the old man. "Give her de bonnet an' de ma'nsail up to dat fastest patch."

The boys jumped to the halyards, and the boat sprang forward with renewed speed, careening over until she was half under, and slightly hauling on the wind.

"Ef I kin keep her offen de reef twill hit lightens up, we'se all right," whispered Sandy; and suddenly, looking after the retreating cloud, out of which in the gloom now appeared the tops of the mangrove-trees, he shouted exultantly, "Give her de jib," and, with a lunge at the tiller, the vessel fell away and dashed onward at the wall of rock and foam.

"For de Lawd's sake, yo' ain't gwine to jump dat reef, is yo'?" cried Rastus, in an agony of terror.

But it was too late to question the old man's intentions: we were already in the back swash of the breakers. "Cotch suthin!" he shouted again, as our craft on the crest of a mighty roller shot onward to seeming destruction.

On either side the bare coral rock was visible, as the waves gathered for another onward rush; yet we did not strike. A second roller raised us high in air, and, hurled forward with the speed of the wind, we were buried in the seething foam; but the next moment our craft shook off the sea, and we glided away on the smooth waters of the inner reef. A few minutes later the sun was out again, and one of the strangest phases of life on the reef had come and gone.

"I 'spec' dat was a narrer 'scape," said old Sandy, "but I tuk de only chance. We was boun' to strike somewhere, an' de squall jes' got off in time for me to take bearin's of disher five-foot channel; an', it's a fac', I'se been fru a heap o' times, but dat was de wustest, sho' 'nuff."

From Sandy's orders given at the approach of the squall, the reader might possibly infer that the sable mariner was commander of a ninety-gun frigate, while in point of fact he was only skipper of a very disreputable fishing-smack. But he had been nearly all his life a "boy" on a government vessel, and now, having retired, from either habit or fancy he still kept up the man-of-war discipline, and when under more than ordinary excitement roared out a flood of orders that savored of both navy and merchant marine, uttering them with all the enjoyment of a ranking officer on his own quarter-deck. They were, however, well understood by Sandy's sons, who constituted the port and starboard watches of the smack, and who were in constant awe of the old man-of-war's-man, who did not hesitate to enforce his orders with any missile that came handy.

"Dis ship's on a war-footin', dat's sho'," he said, after one of these characteristic scenes, and then, in a stage whisper, "so's de crew. Dey's bofe cou'tin' de same gal in Key Wes'."

The Bull Pup, for such was her name, kept up her war-footing as long as we knew her, and the dignity invested in her hulk, which had a strong predisposition toward bilge, was, to say the least, extraordinary. Never was better craft for the purpose; and during a long cruise among the small keys that form the extreme end of the Florida peninsula, she always showed a dogged determination, as indicated by her name, to surmount all difficulties.

We had sailed down during the night from Marquesas across the Rebecca shoals, and when caught by the squall were off Bush Key, one of the most easterly of the group, which enjoys the distinction of possessing Dry Tortugas,—why "dry" we know not. Our extraordinary entrance, almost instantaneous, from rough to comparatively smooth water can only be explained by a casual reference to the great reef. The group of keys—Loggerhead, Bird, Long, Middle, East, North, Bush, Sand, and Garden—are all within seven miles of each other, Garden, Bird, Bush, and Long being in close proximity,—within swimming-distance, if the swimmer be not nervous in regard to sharks. From these central keys a great sandy shoal spreads away on all sides, cut up, however, by several deep channels admitting vessels of the largest draught. To the east and south the reef is two miles wide and rarely over four feet deep, covered at intervals with great fields of branch corals, while here and there clusters of enormous heads of astrea, porites, etc., have collected. The edge of the reef is formed of dead coral rock, often beaten up by the waves into a continuous wall several miles in extent, and a few steps beyond this the water deepens quickly, until at the length of a vessel from it no bottom is visible.

The one opening in this barrier on the side of our approach, so formidable in a gale, is the passage through which the skill of Sandy had safely brought us, being, as its name explains, five feet deep and not many more in width, and used only at odd times by the few pilots and fishermen of the reef who know the secret of its approach. But how old Sandy found it when completely covered by the waves, with only the tops of certain trees to steer by, is one of the mysteries.

Our object in visiting this desolate part of the country was to capture turtles. Here is the ground of the green and loggerhead turtles, and, according to Sandy, the hawksbill, from which the shell of commerce is taken, is also occasionally found.

The squall was now a fast-disappearing pillar in the west. The anchor-chain ran merrily out, and we rounded to in the narrow harbor of Garden Key. The boys manned the pump, while Sandy and the writer pulled for the shore, and the dingy soon crunched into the white, sandy beach of the coral island which during the war was the Botany Bay of America. Surely Dry Tortugas has been maligned: instead of dry we find it very wet, a key of sand thirteen acres in extent, hardly one foot above the tide, and entirely occupied by probably the largest brick fort in the world.

Fort Jefferson was commenced long before the war, and is now a monument of the ineffectual military methods of thirty years ago. The work is a six-sided, two-tiered fort of majestic proportions, its faces pierced with over five hundred guns. How many millions of dollars have been expended in its erection it would be difficult to conjecture. The question why so important a work was built here is often asked, and we have heard the answer given that it was encouraged by the Key West slave-owners, through their representatives, to give employment to their slaves, who were engaged as laborers by the government. Garden Key, however, is the key of the gulf, and, as a prospective coaling-station in case of war, it was undoubtedly a spot to be held at all odds, and at the outbreak of the war it formed a convenient spot for the confinement of certain prisoners, as many as three thousand being kept there at one time. Now the great fort figures as a picture of desolation and is slowly falling to decay, deserted save by the memories of the great conflict, a lighthouse-keeper, and a guard.

Once within the great enclosure, the reason for its having been called Garden Key becomes apparent. The neighboring islands are covered with prickly pear, mangroves, and bay-cedars, while here clumps of cocoanuts rear their graceful forms, their long rustling leaves, which convey to the distant listener the cooling impression of falling rain, reaching high over the top of the fort. On the west side grows a small grove of bananas, while against the cottage walls luxuriant vines climb in wild confusion. What was once the parade-ground is covered by a thick growth of wiry grass, in which gopher- and crab-holes lay traps for the unwary. In fact, far from being the forbidding spot it has been painted, Dry Tortugas seemed to us a veritable garden in the path of the great Gulf Stream.

On the afternoon of our arrival the Bull Pup was got under way and headed through a circuitous channel to East Key, off which we came to anchor about dusk. Blankets and other articles indispensable for a night on the beach were carried ashore, and camp formed on the edge of the bay-cedars. East Key comprises about thirty acres of sand, thickly covered with a low growth of bay-cedar, in which the rude nests of the noddy are found, while here and there in the undergrowth are great patches of cactus or prickly pear, affording lurking-places for innumerable purple-backed crabs of ferocious mien.

"Turklin'," said old Sandy, as we lay stretched on the sand, waiting for the moon, "is right in de line o' hard wu'k, an' I 'spec's yo' chillun is a-hankerin' after yo' mudder."

The two children, both hard on thirty, indignantly denied that they had anything but an extreme fondness for labor.

"Wu'k!" said old Sandy, appealing to us and reaching for a piece of driftwood to fling at his progeny in case of necessity; "w'y, de coons of disher generation don' know de meanin' of de word, da's a fac'. How is it dat yo' don' see no mo' bandy chillun roun' now? Kase dey mammies don' hev to wu'k. Dey ain't got no call to put de chilluns down. W'y, chile, I pick cotton 'fore I leave de bre's', da's a fac'. De niggers is gittin' too sumpchus fo' dar place. Dey try to make outen dey got sense like white folks. Yo' Rastus, yo'se deacon in de Key Wes' Fustest Bethel, ain't yo'?"

"'Deed I is," replied that person.

"An' Piffney too, I reckon," continued Sandy.

"Yas, sah," answered Piffney.

"Wal," said the old man, turning to us again, "dere it is. Chuck full o' 'ligion, but w'en dey git in de tight hole like de five-foot dey ain't got no faith. Old-time l'arnin' say 'tain't no use buckin' 'genst de debble less yo' full o' faith. All de old-time coons knows dey's coons, but dese yere free-born darkies got to be white or nuthin'. Yander," nodding his head toward Key West, "a couple of dese yere black Conchs drap in on me an' de ole woman, an' say, 'Uncle Sandy, we'se 'lected yo' hon'ry member of de Anex Debatin' Soci'ty of de Young Men's Chrisshun 'Sociashun of de Fustest Bethel.' I reached fo' a chunk of scantlin', and de ole woman stood by fo' to turn loose de coon, w'en dey hollered out dey wasn't no 'spenses, no fees, no nuthin', only ten bits fo' hevin' yo' name 'graved in de soci'ty's books. So I 'lowed I'd jine; an' d'rectly dey sent me an inwite fo' de fustest meetin', an', fo' de Lawd, mar's, w'at yo' s'pose hit was? Hit read kinder like disher," he continued, with a groan: "'Reswolved, which is de butt end of a goat? Fo' de affermation (de on side), Rastus Pinckey; fo' de neggertive (de off side), Piffney Pinckey.' Yas, sah, I done pay ten bits fo' to hear my chillun 'scuss w'at's done been settled in disher fam'ly 'fore dey's bo'n and sence! All comes o' apin' white folks," said the old man, threatening the debaters with the scantling. "Dey's boun' to git up a 'batin'-soci'ty an' talk all de evening w'en dere was Paublo Johnson standin' up all de evenin' from stiffness he cotched from ole man Geiger's goat, an', hit's a fac', he stan' an' 'scuss de question, tryin' to make outen how de goat kicked him, all kase he's on de on side. But dat's de coon of it."

"Whish!" whispered Rastus, who, with Piffney, had been trying to look supernaturally solemn during this tirade.

"Shoo!" repeated Sandy, leaning forward.

The moon had just cleared the mangrove-tops, and illuminated the silvery sands, casting reflections upon the water, where there was now a perfect calm. Far away was heard the lonely cry of a laughing gull. The gentle break of the waves upon the sands gave out a soft, musical sound, and, as we held our breath, a sharp hiss was heard, seemingly but a few feet away.

"Turkle," hoarsely whispered Sandy; on which announcement we all flattened upon the sand. So bright was the moon that every object was distinctly visible for several hundred feet. A moment later the strange hiss was repeated, and then a small, black object was seen glistening in the moonlight a few feet from shore. Again came the penetrating hiss, and the animal moved several feet farther in, as if cautiously looking around. The moonbeams scintillated for a moment on its shell, as it hesitated on the edge, and then the turtle commenced a clumsy scramble up the beach, lifting itself along in a laborious manner. In ten minutes it had reached the loose sand above tide-water, and kept its course toward us until within thirty feet, when it began to excavate its nest. The operation seemed to be performed mostly with the hind feet, and was accomplished in a remarkably short time, considering the implements used.

All the party were breathing hard, and, as Sandy afterward remarked, "The only reason de turkle didn't go was it t'ought we'se porpuses."

The turtle was allowed to deposit its eggs, and when that operation was supposed to be about over a concerted rush was made. As we rose from the sand, the animal whirled clumsily around and made for the sea. It was an enormous loggerhead, and, with its huge head and powerful flippers, presented a decidedly aggressive appearance. The two boys were first on the field, and, without waiting for the scantling which old Sandy had grasped, seized the creature on the side, between the flippers, and lifted it. But they had barely raised it from the sand when the great fore flipper, being clear, struck the unfortunate Piffney a sounding blow, knocking him against Rastus, who lost his hold, and both went down in confusion. The turtle scrambled ahead, throwing sand like a whirlwind. She seemed to have the faculty of lifting nearly a quart and hurling it with unerring force, and old Sandy's mouth was soon filled with it. Three of us again seized the animal and lifted, while the old darky inserted the scantling as a lever.

"Now, den, clap on yere!" he cried, dodging the sand and flippers.

We lifted, and the monster was fairly on its side, when an ominous creak was heard; the plank broke, and before a new hold could be taken the turtle was but ten feet from the water. Active measures were evidently necessary, and Sandy, taking the board, ran in front of the animal and struck wildly at its head, yelling to us to lift. But the sand was soft, and every lift was attended by a terrific beating to the man who stood near the fore flipper. In vain we struck, lifted, and hauled: the turtle was gaining slowly. Finally, in his war-dance about the animal's head, Sandy stumbled, grasped wildly in the air, and went down backward into the water with a sounding crash, the turtle fairly crawling over his legs, and, despite the boys, who hung on to its hind flippers, it slid into the water and disappeared behind a miniature tidal wave, leaving the Pinckey family—father and sons—in a state of complete demoralization.

"I 'low dat turkle's bo'n free," gasped Sandy, picking himself up and shaking the water from his clothes.

"He ain't gwine to give up dat calapee yet, da's a fac'."

The boys having repaired damages and unloaded the sand received during the mêlée, and the moon being now well up, the tramp around the key was commenced. The approved method is to walk along as near the water as possible, and on finding a recent track to follow it up on the run, and thus head off the turtle. For a mile or more we strolled along the sands, the boys humming in low tones some old plantation melody, and Sandy occasionally venting his wrath at some real or imaginary fault in the young and rising generation. In the midst of one of these tirades, the boys, who had kept ahead, suddenly darted up toward the bushes. We were soon after them, following up a broad track distinctly marked on the white, sandy beach, and came upon a fine green turtle, which immediately started for the water, making rapid headway. The honor of turning her was reserved for the writer, who, grasping the shell beneath the flippers, essayed the task. Her struggles, the flying flippers, and the giving sand verified Sandy's statement that "turklin' was wu'k," and, after several ineffectual attempts, we were forced to cry for help. The animal was soon upon her back, and proved to be one of the largest size. "Old an' tuff," said Sandy; "but," he added, "hit'll be all the same up No'th."

The boys now proceeeded to cut slits in the flippers and lash them together with rope-yarn, the animal being thus placed hors de combat. The march was again taken up, and soon another track was found, but the eggs had been laid and the game was gone. An attempt to find this nest showed the cunning displayed by these clumsy creatures. Naturally, the nest would be looked for at the end of the incoming track, but at this spot the writer searched fruitlessly, while Sandy looked on in grim satisfaction at his own superior knowledge. Finally he pointed out the nest forty feet away, and the boys soon produced the soft, crispy eggs as proof of his wisdom.

"Ole turtle jes' as cunnin' as coon," said Sandy, as he nipped one of the eggs and transferred its contents to his capacious mouth. And, indeed, so it seemed. Instead of laying directly on reaching the soft sand, the turtle had crawled down the beach and made several holes, finally forming her real nest, smoothing it over so that it could never be distinguished from the rest, and again crawling down the beach before turning toward the water: thus the nest may be looked for anywhere between the up and down tracks.

Having piled the eggs in a convenient place for transportation in the morning, the march was renewed, and before dawn four turtles were turned, with little or no discomfort, all being green and much lighter than the cumbersome loggerhead that first escaped us.

In the morning the turtles were one by one placed in the dingy and taken aboard the smack, when we set sail for Garden Key, arriving in the snug harbor a few hours later. It is a curious fact that the long strip of sand to the westward, called Loggerhead Key, is mostly frequented by the turtle of that name, the green turtle rarely going ashore there, preferring East, Sand, and Middle Keys.

The eggs of the turtle are perfectly oval, with the exception of one or two depressions that may occur at any part. They are hatched probably not by the direct heat of the sun, but by the general temperature of the sand. The instinct of the young is remarkable. We have placed young loggerheads barely a day old in a closed room facing away from the water, and they invariably turned in that direction. During their young life they fall a prey to many predaceous fishes, such as sharks, also to the larger gulls, and only a small percentage of the original brood attains its majority.

Besides turning turtles, which is of course confined strictly to a certain season, the fishermen of the reef resort to another method, called pegging. The instrument of capture is a three-sided peg, often made by cutting off the end of a file. This is attached to a long line and fitted into a copper cap on the end of a long pole, the whole constituting an unbarbed spear. Thus armed, the turtler sculls over the reef, striking the turtle either as it lies asleep on the bottom or as it rises to breathe. The peg is hurled long distances with great skill and accuracy: as soon as it strikes, the pole comes out, and the victim is managed by the line, often towing the dingy for a considerable distance. The peg holds by suction; and, as it only enters the hard shell, and that only half an inch, the animal is not in the least injured for transportation to the North.

Key West is the head quarters of the Florida turtling-trade, and on the north shore of the island, where a shoal reef stretches away, a number of crawls have been from time immemorial used, being merely fences or enclosures in which the animals are penned until the time for shipment. By far the greater number find their way to New York, being packed and crowded, often brutally, in the common fish-cars at the Fulton Market dock in such numbers that many are unable to rise, and consequently drown. The greatest injustice, however, to the long-suffering turtle comes when the miserable animal is propped up before some restaurant door, bearing upon its broad carapace the grim assertion, "To be served this day."

The green or loggerhead turtles are rarely seen north of Cape Florida. The outer reef is their home, their range extending far to the south. Old turtles, like fishes, often have strange companions. They are covered with barnacles of various kinds; several remoras form their body-guard, clinging here and there as if part and parcel of their huge consort. Often small fish allied to the mackerel accompany them, as does also the pilot-fish of the shark. One large loggerhead pegged by the writer had its four flippers bitten off by the latter fishes so close to the shell that it could barely move along, and would undoubtedly soon have succumbed, although it is a common thing to find both green and loggerhead turtles minus parts of their locomotive organs.

The great leather turtle (Sphurgis coriacea), the largest of the tribe, is rarely seen, being seemingly a denizen of the high seas, and more commonly observed in colder waters; though Gosse is authority for the statement that they form their nests on the island of Jamaica. The following account is from the Jamaica "Morning Journal" of April 13, 1846: "The anxiety of the fishermen in this little village was aroused on the 30th of last month by the track of a huge sea-monster, called a trunk-turtle, which came on the sea-beach for the purpose of laying her eggs. A search was made, when a hole in the sand was discovered, about four feet deep and as wide as the mouth of a half-barrel, whence five or six dozen white eggs were taken out; the eggs were of different sizes, the largest the size of a duck's egg. On the morning of the 10th of this month, at half-past five o'clock, she was discovered by Mr. Crow, on the beach, near the spot where she first came up; he gave the alarm, when all the neighbors assembled and got her turned on her back. She took twelve men to haul her about two hundred yards. I went and measured her, and found her dimensions as follows: from head to tail, six feet six inches; from the outer part of her fore fin to the other end" (to the tip of the other?), "nine feet two inches; the circumference round her back and chest, seven feet nine inches; circumference of her neck, three feet three inches; the widest part of her fore fins, eighteen inches; her hind fins, two feet four inches in length. Her back is formed like a round top of a trunk, with small white bumps in straight lines, resembling the nails on a trunk; her color is variegated like the rainbow" (probably the living skin displayed opaline reflections); "there is no shell on her back, but a thick skin, like pump-leather."