Today in Cape Canaveral history: 15 July 1898: Mr. J. G. Bast, Mr. Tiffin’s manager, rowed over to Canaveral in his skiff last week, arriving at Brightside at about four p. m. His object was to invite me to spend a few days with Mr. and Mrs. Daffern, who have charge of Mr. Tiffin’s ostrich farm, where Mrs. Daffern met with a severe accident while attending to the young ostriches. We started for Courtenay at six p. m. that evening, which is directly opposite Brightside, my home on the east shore of Banana river – the distance is said to be four miles from shore to shore – one and a half miles south of Canaveral P. O. While Mr. Bast plied the oars, I watched the sheen of purple and gold illuminating the face of the water. The whole aspect of the river was marvelously beautiful. After we had gone about two miles on our way, a black cloud loomed up in the south, the wind changed to the southwest and commenced blowing violently, causing the river to change from a placid stream to a turbulent sea; the thunder rumbled like the angry growl of a lion at bay, as the sky blackened with ominous forebodings of an approaching storm, completely obscuring the western shore from our view. The waves broke against the side of our boat sending showers of spray over us. The phosphorous danced in serpentine curves, writhing and curling like fiery snakes. Mr. Bast kept steadily on, buffeting the big waves with the skilled hand of an expert oarsman. In this way we reached the western shore, presumably about two miles north of the Courtenay trail. We shouted ourselves hoarse, pulling north and south alternately, in the hope that Mr. Harper would hear us, a neighbor who Mr. Bast had requested to wait until his return with a horse and wagon to convey us to the Bungalow, a distance of five miles across. After an hour or so spent in a vainless search for Mr. Harper, we headed the skiff towards the eastern shore, guided by the brilliant flash-light from the tower at Cape Canaveral. After several hours spent in finding our way back, we finally reached the wharf at Brightside, about one o’clock a. m., wet and bedraggled, rejoicing, however, in our safe arrival, after a perilous voyage across the treacherous river. At 7 o’clock the next morning we started anew, and arrived at the Bungalow without mishap about 10 o’clock. Mr. and Mrs. Daffern gave us a hearty welcome, and during my visit made me feel at home with them. In the afternoon we visited the ostriches, of which there are seven; six of these are mated; one called Corbett lost his mate over a year ago; he looked quite forlorn inclosed in a spacious wire cage alone. At our approach he ran to meet us, clawing the wire fencing with his huge foot, his eyes gleaming, and his whole appearance indicating the savage mood he wanted to give vent to. He pressed close to the wire fence and glared at me, looking me all over, and Mr. Bast had to thrust him back with his cane. To the uninitiated, the birds are difficult to manage at times. Mr. Daffern has studied out their weak points, and become master of the situation. As each of the couples ran to meet us in turn – each pair being separated by a wire fence – I could not help but admire the graceful poise of their long necks, with heads held up erect, while they ran with an easy swiftness and agility, reminding one of expert skaters on a broad field of ice. One of the mother birds was setting on a huge nest, full of eggs. She ran to meet us with her mate, and kept fanning her wings to cool off. Mr. Daffern told me the male bird takes his turn quite regularly in setting on the eggs – the time for the young birds to hatch being six weeks. The six young ostriches that Mrs. Daffern has become foster-mother to, are still in the nursery under her watchful eye, and receive the most careful attention. It afforded me a genuine pleasure to feed them from my hand, each one taking a bill-ful in turn, after which they would surround me, looking happy and pleased, and commence plucking my dress, unfastening strings and buttons with a merry twinkle in their pleasant eyes. Then they would run around the yard for a frolic, expecting that I would chase them, which was very amusing. Rose Lawn has many attractions aside from the ostrich farm, including costly buildings, extensive pleasure grounds, deer park, orange grove and gardens, all in perfect harmony with the esthetic taste of the owner, who resides at Montreal, Canada. The hotel is quite an imposing structure, possessing every modern improvement with the exception of electric lights, a plant for which is to be added at an opportune moment. Many rare plants shrubs adorn the grounds, all of which are familiar to me excepting the sweet locust, which had stopped blooming, but several seed pods were still visible on the high branches. A number of fine camphor trees were scattered about the lawn. They are all sizes, one of them being some fifteen feet in height, and just coming into bloom; clusters of white buds, resembling orange blossoms, were forming on the outer stems all over the tree. It will be quite a curiosity when in full bloom. Long lines of bamboo trees, forming arches of dense shade overhead and strikingly picturesque, extend along both avenues leading from the hotel and bungalow to the shore of the Indian River and join the steamboat wharf. The other leads to the dancing hall, swimming pool and boat house. A week later after bidding Mr. and Mrs. Daffern good-bye, we drove through the pine woods to the Hall hammock landing. The forest fires were still smoldering, after venting their fiery wrath for over a week on everything in that section. The burned, blackened ground, palmetto scrub and trees appeared to us like living things that had been offered as a sacrifice for the convenience of the herds of cattle that feed in this, their natural dominion. The river lay cool and placid like a sleeping infant, with the sun glints dimpling its face into magical beauty. As we approached the eastern shore, my appreciation increased, watching the long line of verdant hammocks fringing the shore that came prominently into view. The velvet green of the luxuriant bay, liveoak and palmetto towering upward in brilliant contrast to the scared and blackened pine tree I left behind me. Surely Canaveral has a future, for its natural attractions are many. Its clear, balmy air, fanned by the ozone of old ocean, its wide, curving beach around a marvelously beautiful bay, with deep water channel, opening into vast acres of primeval forest, awakened only by the deep-toned roar of the breakers, waiting and ready for man’s aid and enterprise. – Lucie Ada MacKenzie for Indian River Advocate.
Posted on: Tue, 15 Jul 2014 12:48:59 +0000
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