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Source-led transcription, lightly normalized from the cited page scan; historical claims remain attributed to The Flaming Sword.
Experiences and Impressions of One of a Party of Six Who Journeyed to the Wilderness of Florida Thirty Years Ago.
THIRTY YEARS AGO a little sail boat entered San Carlos Pass at the southern end of Estero Island, Florida. There was a party of six on board, beside the pilot and his assistant, who were huddled like immigrants in the bottom of the boat amidst rolls of bedding and other luggage. The pilot was a very “tactful” man who did much “tacking” as he headed into the pass, causing his passengers to either lie low or duck under the boom as he swung his sail frequently from side to side. The party was from Chicago and was headed for the saw-mill settlement on the point of the Island. They were coming to join the pioneer colony of the Koreshan Unity which had been sent from the Chicago group of this religious and communistic community the year before to start a city of their own in Florida. Great was the interest to see the pioneers' efforts of a year and to come to the land of wonders and of promise. The region was then entirely unsettled by others and almost unknown. In those days the railway terminated at the fishing village of Punta Gorda. A day's sail, if wind were fair, was necessary to reach the southern tip of Estero Island, which was one location of the colony's operations.
The light of a sun that was setting was therefore on the sails as the last “tacks” were taken to accomplish the landing at Estero Island. Two tall, fair ladies were singing on the beach and waving the long cheese-cloth scarfs that had to be worn for protection from mosquitoes. Some blue-jeaned men came into view and helped to tie up the craft, and they welcomed the newcomers to the task of assisting in clearing the wilderness and making it blossom. It was reassuring to each member of the party to feel the warm grasp of welcoming hands and to stand on stock-still terra firma once more. All the colonists looked well, with the healthy tan of the Southern sun on their faces; and their greeting was sincerely hearty, for new arrivals meant reinforcements for those valiant and hardy souls who had labored for a year to hew a home out of the pine forests.
One way to get to the cabin of kitchen and dwelling-rooms up the Island was by a car running on wooden tracks, but a stroll up the wide, white beach seemed most attractive and alluring to the city-bred travelers. Pink fiddler crabs scooted about as they do today. Shells, with some varieties now forgotten, were strewn over the sand to be gathered with delight.
Palm trees raised their bushy heads out of oak and mangrove thickets in the distance, and tall grasses bowed in the breezes at the edge of the beach. It was an enchanting isle, with a sky of rainbow clouds in the west and a bay studded with islets to the east.
At the cabin the white-veiled sisters had a tea-kettle singing and slices of corn-meal mush sputtering in a frying pan. All were hungry, happy, tired and awed by their new adventure in scenes so unlike anything they had known before. The food was deliciously acceptable to those who had not felt the rocking of the boat too much.
Estero Island Point was a junction for the river row boats and the sail boats which brought provisions from the more northern ports of St. James City and Punta Gorda. Estero Island is seven miles long; and thirty years ago only one or two other little clearings were on this good man Friday's isle. But one might as well have been a Robinson Crusoe or a member of Swiss Family Robinson, so far was civilization removed. Now, however, the Island is dotted with subdivision stakes and is connected with the mainland by a bridge.
There were not accommodations at the Point for more than just those operating the saw-mill, so the necessary transfer of luggage was made to row boats and the party of six traveled eight miles farther that night to the main settlement near the head of Estero River. After winding through shallow bay channels and following the tortuous twistings of a stream lined with strange, shadowy shapes of horny pines and waving palm leaves, the wee hours of another day found the party nearing their destination. It was a crisp, cold night, as nights in Florida can be when a “northeaster” has brought a cool wave.
The rolls of bedding brought from Chicago for just such an emergency were no longer discountenanced as nuisances. A faint light toward the east kept tired eyes open and thoughts interested until a hundred fires at least, it seemed, lighted up the clearing of the settlers. Bonfires here and there dotted the grove of young citrus trees, and the outlines of a few dwellings told the story of the efforts of the first dwellers in this Florida wilderness.
Some swinging lights from out the phantom-like scene came toward the boats manned by weary oarsmen, and more heartfelt welcome was accorded as the party was guided to a sheltering house. The earliest cup of coffee yet enjoyed on the trip was provided in a dwelling of hand-hewn shingles; and warmth and comfort and hospitality, and satisfied desire to support an effort to help build in every way sublimely in Florida's unknown supposedly waste swamp regions, greeted the new arrivals at their journey's end.
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Source: The Flaming Sword, Vol. 39 (Nov 1925), PDF p. 221.
The Flaming Sword · Vol. 39 · Nov 1925 · PDF p. 221