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Petals Plucked from Sunny Climes by Sylvia Sunshine
Petals Plucked from Sunny Climes by Sylvia Sunshine
A TRIP to Florida during the winter season is now the popular move for everybody, whether invalid or not, which those living in so close proximity as Atlanta find difficult to resist.
Atlanta is a delightful summer resort, situated a thousand feet above sea-level, visited by healthful mountain breezes in summer, besides being blessed with the purest of freestone and chalybeate water in the world. The night passenger train leaves at 10 P.M. for Macon, one hundred and five miles distant.
We arrive in Macon about 7 A.M., where, after being fortified with a good breakfast at the Brown House, the train departs for Savannah-Macon being the commencement of the mountain-slope which continues to the sea-shore. Many pleasant little towns are passed through on the route, most of which have never recovered from the devastating effects of the war.
Savannah is at last reached, one hundred and ninety-two miles from Macon. To say that Savannah is a pleasant place conveys an indefinite idea of its attractiveness. Many persons stop to remain only a night, but are so much pleased they tarry a month before proceeding further South.
The present site of Savannah is where General Oglethorpe was met, in 1733, by the Yamacraw Indians, who, after he had landed, presented him with a buffalo-skin, on the inside of which was painted the plumage of an eagle, accompanied with the following address: "The feathers of the eagle," said the chief, "are soft, and signify love; the buffalo-skin is warm, the emblem of protection; therefore love and protect our families." Oglethorpe, in coming to America, was stimulated with the desire of finding a home for the oppressed Protestants and bankrupt gentlemen of England. Upon the adjustment of terms with the Indians he proceeded to lay out the city of Savannah with the greatest regularity. It then contained ten public squares of two acres each, in which were trees, walks, and a pump. The number of squares has now been increased to twenty-four-the walks all being paved with granite, and swept daily. Forsyth Park is on a more extended plan than these small squares, containing a large fountain, fine flowers, magnolia grandiflora trees, a small zo?logical collection-all objects of interest, displaying the taste and refinement of a well-cultured people. Pulaski Square is named for Count Pulaski, who was mortally wounded during the American Revolution while in an engagement on the ground where the Central Depot now stands. He died on board the brig Wasp as she was leaving
A Scene in Forsyth Park, Savannah.
Tybee for Charleston, when his body was consigned to the sea. The citizens of Georgia, through their munificent bequests, have erected in Monterey Square a monument to Count Pulaski, the corner-stone of which was laid when General La Fayette visited America for the last time.
Savannah has made another fine exhibit of her discriminating powers in selecting a retired and lovely spot, made sacred to them by depositing all that remains of the loved ones who have crossed the river a little before. They have christened it Bonaventure, derived from the Spanish, signifying, Coming good. Here rest, in the unyielding embrace of death, those whose warfare in life has ended, where the huge live-oaks, with overlapping limbs, entwine with their companions, forming natural triumphal archways, while the somber-hanging gray moss clings lovingly to its outstretched arms, waving in the winds like some weird fancy that lingers only on the brink of uncertainty. These beautiful grounds were once the home of the Tatnall family, but have now been purchased and devoted to the dwelling of the dead, whither the living can come and contemplate the change which awaits them all.
Travelers, in leaving Savannah for Florida, can go outside by sea, or the inland route, many preferring the latter on account of avoiding sea-sickness, the passage being made between sounds, inlets, and islands, before Fernandina is reached. The inland steamers are first-class in every respect, and the long marsh-grass contains many of those colossal lizards called alligators. They crawl about fearlessly in their hiding-places, while the swamp blackbird whistles very sweetly for us as we pass along so quietly most of the time that we are not exactly certain of any movement, but ten miles an hour is the pro rata of speed.
We are now close to St. Simon's Island, where General Oglethorpe commenced another settlement in 1736, called Frederica. On this equable-tempered island they laid out a town, built a fort with four bastions to protect their palmetto cabins, which, as the historian describes them, appeared like a camp with bowers, "being covered with leaves of a pleasing color." Natural paths and arbors were found here by the English, as if formed by the hand of art, with the ripe grapes hanging in festoons of a royal purple hue. The settlements made by Oglethorpe in this portion of the country were the first formed in the true spirit of improvement and colonization.
With him came the great founder of Methodism in America, Wesley, who planted his standard on this island, and mentions their object in the following manner: "It is not to gain riches and honor, but to live wholly to the glory of God, as we have come in the serene hour of peace, when the floods of controversy have subsided, to sow the gospel seeds."
John Bartram visited St. Simon's Island in 1744, and makes the following record of his repast with a friend: "Our rural table was spread under the shadow of oaks, palms, and sweet-bays, fanned by the lively, salubrious breezes, wafted from the spicy groves. Our music was the responsive love-lays of the painted nonpareil and the alert, gay mocking-bird, while the brilliant humming-bird darted through the flowery groves, suspended in air, drinking nectar from the blooms of the yellow jasmine, lonicera, andromeda, and azalea."
As we approach Fernandina we are nearing historic ground-Dungenness, once a most charming and attractive place, located near the southern extremity of Cumberland Island, the former home of Nathanael Greene, of revolutionary fame, where his last days were spent peacefully, of which pleasant period he thus speaks: "The mocking-birds that sing around me morning and evening, the mild and balmy atmosphere, with the exercise which I find in my garden culture." This locality seemed to have constituted a happy close to his eventful career.
The English planted an olive-grove on this island that succeeded well, as though the trees were indigenous. They used the fruit in making pickles, which were considered very fine. Is it not the olive-tree which the Christian should love and venerate, even to the "hoary dimness of its delicate foliage, subdued and faint of hue, as though the ashes of the Gethsemane agony had been cast upon it forever?" It was at the foot of the Mount of Olives, beneath the shadow of the trees from which it derives its name, that was selected for the most mournful of scenes-"The Saviour's Passion." The good and the wild olive-tree will flourish in this climate. It was these trees which furnished the Apostle Paul with one of his most powerful allegories. The wild olive blooms in March, producing a profusion of pink-tinted, white, star-shaped flowers, while its polished, evergreen verdure, remains all the year, affording a compact and beautiful shade.
On this island, before the late war, was seen a scuppernong grape-vine, nearly three hundred years old, supposed to have been planted by the Spanish missionaries. It was then pronounced a prolific bearer, producing two thousand pounds of fruit per annum, and covering nearly three acres of ground. Here rests all that remains of Light-Horse Harry Lee, the gifted and honored dead. "Here his lamp of life flickered before being extinguished." He died March 25, 1818. The decaying marks of time, and the more ruthless destruction of war, have fearfully invaded and devastated this once revered retreat. "Silent though it be, there are memories lingering still vocal amid the mutations of fortune and the desolations of war-memories which carry the heart back to happy days and peculiar excellences which come not again."
When General R. E. Lee last visited Savannah the burial-place of his illustrious parent was not forgotten. It was the only tribute of respect which his great feeling heart could bestow, the last mission of love he was able to perform. Did he think before spring should return again, decked in her gay robes, flinging ten thousand odors upon its balmy breath, that his grave would then be visited by weeping friends, and that loving hands should twine fresh flowers for his remains?
How sleep the brave who sink to rest,
By all their country's honors blest!
We next pass the mouth of St. Mary's River, the source of which is a vast lake, where dwelt the far-famed beautiful women, or Daughters of the Sun. These were the last of the Yemassee tribe, who had intrenched themselves here for protection, all efforts to pursue them being like the enchanted lands, which receded as they were approached.
Fernandina is situated on Amelia Island, which is eighteen miles in length and two in width. Vessels can approach the harbor any time without fear from shoals, as the water on the bar will always furnish an average of nineteen feet. Its first settlers, as of many other places in Florida, were Spaniards, a few of whom are remaining. During the movements of the Embargo War, together with the privateers and slavers, three hundred square-rigged vessels have been seen in this harbor at one time. Another settler mentions the mounds when the country was first explored by the Spaniards.
General Oglethorpe, like other explorers in America, was impressed with the coast of Florida, and thus speaks of Amelia Island: "The sea-shore, covered with myrtle and peach-trees, orange-trees and vines in the wild woods, where echoed the sound of melody from the turtle-doves, nonpareils, red-birds, and mocking-birds." Different nationalities looked upon Amelia Island with longing eyes for many years, coveting it for their possession.
In 1817, Gregor McGregor, a Scottish baronet-an enthusiast on the subject of contest-came, with only fifty followers, making proclamations and issuing edicts, of more magnitude than plans for their execution, but soon retired to the quieter quarters of his Highland home.
Afterward came Commodore Aury, with one hundred and fifty men, on a filibustering expedition, and overpowered the Spanish troops. At this time it would have been a difficult task to find a more motley, medley crowd of residents in any country than upon Amelia Island, composed of English adventurers, Irish and French refugees, Scotch, Mexicans, Spaniards, privateers, natives, and negroes. Factions of such varied dispositions and inclinations were not designed to promote harmony in any community; consequently, riots and disturbances were of frequent occurrence.
Previous to this movement by Aury, negotiations had been pending between the United States and the Spanish Government for Florida; consequently, President Monroe and his Cabinet looked upon the disputed property, in a manner, as their own possessions. These Spaniards, being unable to expel the privateering adventurers, President Monroe sent United States troops, which took possession of Fernandina without resistance, in the name of His Catholic Majesty of Spain. This event happened in the spring of 1818.
On Amelia Island is situated a light-house, which exhibits a flash-light, one hundred feet above the level of the sea, visible sixteen miles. The tower is built upon a promontory which overlooks the surrounding country and the Atlantic as far as the eye can extend.
At Fernandina the Atlantic Gulf and West India Transit Railroad commences, where the gentlemanly officers connected with and in charge of the road reside. The obliging superintendent is always in readiness here to give information upon the peculiar facilities resulting from living on this route, as a health-location, besides being so closely connected by steam-ships with all parts of the world. It now contains a population of about three thousand inhabitants, and, on account of the fine sea air, has been a resort for many years during the summer season by persons from the interior of the State.
The misfortunes of our late war fell heavily on Fernandina, crippling its energies and crushing its present prospects for a time. The real estate of its residents was confiscated and sold for taxes. Some of it has been redeemed, and the remainder is passing through a series of lengthy litigations, which, when settled, are designed to decide the validity of tax-sales generally throughout the entire State. The present condition of affairs places the inhabitants in rather a Micawber-like condition, waiting for something to turn up in the future.
As a resort far away from the busy, bustling cares of life, this place seems peculiarly fine. The island being entirely surrounded by salt-water, a delightful breeze visits the inhabitants at all seasons of the year-in summer, zephyry as the vale of Cashmere, or the soft winds which bore the silver-oared barge of Cleopatra through the Cydnus. The most attractive feature of all in this locality is the beautiful beach, connected with the town by a good shell-road two miles in length, bordering the island for twenty-one miles, and over two hundred yards in width. It is this unsurpassed drive about which the inhabitants love to entertain you at all times, until you can see it in your dreams. A good livery-stable is kept here, well filled with fine, fast horses, trained to trot, or wade in the surf, allowing visitors to admire the wonderful vastness of the most beautiful expanse of waters which wash the Atlantic shores. At ebb-tide the imagination cannot conceive of a finer place, the beach being so firm that a pair of horses and carriage scarcely make an indentation on the surface in passing over it. The pavement is God's own workmanship, being composed of white sand, occasionally interspersed with shells, many of them the tiniest in existence. Here the happy sea-birds ride on the silvery foam, or flit across the breezy water; the seagulls and pelicans luxuriate and flap their wings in peaceful quietude, while the sand-crab takes his walks, standing upright like a pigmy of the human species, presenting arms in a soldier-like manner, and never turning his back, however hotly pursued. These are in reality very curious little creatures, reminding us of the Lilliputians in Gulliver's Travels. Here the turtle comes to deposit her eggs beyond high-water mark, and when they are hatched returns to escort a family of one hundred and fifty babies to her home in the sea. Here the bright moonbeams dance upon the surface of the water, in silence and solitude, until it resembles the surface of a silver mirror. Many pretty shells are found on this beach, of various sizes and designs, with occasionally desirable cabinet specimens, which are thrown out when the waters become much agitated. This is the spot for the jilted lover to forget his idol, and the disconsolate lady her imaginary devotee; for those fretted by the rough edges of corroding care to retire and find a respite from their struggles; the bankrupt who has been conquered in the battles of brokerage, to visit and be reminded God has given us more treasures to delight us than the dross which passes from our grasp like a shadow, but which all are struggling and striving to win; the store-house of the fathomless deep, where we can contemplate that great image of eternity, "the invisible, boundless, endless, and sublime."
Being second best is practically in my DNA. My sister got the love, the attention, the spotlight. And now, even her damn fiancé. Technically, Rhys Granger was my fiancé now-billionaire, devastatingly hot, and a walking Wall Street wet dream. My parents shoved me into the engagement after Catherine disappeared, and honestly? I didn't mind. I'd crushed on Rhys for years. This was my chance, right? My turn to be the chosen one? Wrong. One night, he slapped me. Over a mug. A stupid, chipped, ugly mug my sister gave him years ago. That's when it hit me-he didn't love me. He didn't even see me. I was just a warm-bodied placeholder for the woman he actually wanted. And apparently, I wasn't even worth as much as a glorified coffee cup. So I slapped him right back, dumped his ass, and prepared for disaster-my parents losing their minds, Rhys throwing a billionaire tantrum, his terrifying family plotting my untimely demise. Obviously, I needed alcohol. A lot of alcohol. Enter him. Tall, dangerous, unfairly hot. The kind of man who makes you want to sin just by existing. I'd met him only once before, and that night, he just happened to be at the same bar as my drunk, self-pitying self. So I did the only logical thing: I dragged him into a hotel room and ripped off his clothes. It was reckless. It was stupid. It was completely ill-advised. But it was also: Best. Sex. Of. My. Life. And, as it turned out, the best decision I'd ever made. Because my one-night stand isn't just some random guy. He's richer than Rhys, more powerful than my entire family, and definitely more dangerous than I should be playing with. And now, he's not letting me go.
Rena got into an entanglement with a big shot when she was drunk one night. She needed Waylen's help while he was drawn to her youthful beauty. As such, what was supposed to be a one-night stand progressed into something serious. All was well until Rena discovered that Waylen's heart belonged to another woman. When his first love returned, he stopped coming home, leaving Rena all alone for many nights. She put up with it until she received a check and farewell note one day. Contrary to how Waylen expected her to react, Rena had a smile on her face as she bid him farewell. "It was fun while it lasted, Waylen. May our paths never cross. Have a nice life." But as fate would have it, their paths crossed again. This time, Rena had another man by her side. Waylen's eyes burned with jealousy. He spat, "How the hell did you move on? I thought you loved only me!" "Keyword, loved!" Rena flipped her hair back and retorted, "There are plenty of fish in the sea, Waylen. Besides, you were the one who asked for a breakup. Now, if you want to date me, you have to wait in line." The next day, Rena received a credit alert of billions and a diamond ring. Waylen appeared again, got down on one knee, and uttered, "May I cut in line, Rena? I still want you."
One night. That's all it was supposed to be. After a messy divorce, Hannah wakes up next to her cold, ruthless ex-husband, Paul Green - bound to him by a night of passion neither of them intended. Humiliated and heartbroken, she vanishes without a word... carrying a secret that changes everything. Triplets. For six years, Hannah raised her children in peace, far from the man who once shattered her. But fate has other plans. A twist of mistaken identity pulls one of her sons straight into Paul's world. He doesn't know the truth. But he's about to find out.
Heiress to a crime syndicate, Avery had hunted her father's killer for years. Disguised as a boy, she slipped into the Hudson household as their youngest "son," expecting a den of wolves, yet finding open arms. An eldest brother who ruled boardrooms, a second who breathed textbooks, and a third who commanded the cameras. She juggled lies, outsmarting them all-until her mask was tore away. "Avery's a girl?" "She owns a thousand cars and billions?" "She's not even family?" As love closed around her, she realized the murderer was her supposed "best bud." Her brothers bristled. "Back off, punk. Not our Avery!"
Mira found herself sold to her greatest enemies, who turned out to be her mates. She never expected to feel so much desire toward them, battling the bond while uncovering secrets that would shatter her world. The Lycan brothers-Rowan, Damien, Lucian, and Kai-are cursed, and the only cure lies in Mira's death. But how can they sacrifice the one woman they're bound to love?
During Kiera's wedding, she and her sister plunged into the water. Stunned, she watched her fiancé yank only the sister to safety and walk off without a glance. Blazing with fury, Kiera married the stranger who pulled her from the water-a broke mechanic-and promised to provide for him, no matter the cost! Her ex sneered, "Dump him. Get back with me; my wife will still be you." Her scheming sister purred, "I'll keep your fiancé company. Enjoy your life with a mechanic." Kiera shut them down. "Leave us alone. We're good together." Then the twist hit: the "mechanic" was a secret billionaire! In front of the world, he knelt with a one-of-a-kind diamond. "My love, I'll cherish you for life."
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