The Sauk Centre herald. (Sauk Centre, Stearns County, Minn.) 1886-current, 1910-01-13
GARDEN OF Eden
As Seen By Well Known Sank
Centre SaWbOneS
DR.. J. M. McMASTERS
Writes fntertdiningIy of His Trip to
Dixieland and of What he finds
In Florida

IN TIOrl0d
On the eve of his departure to
Florida recently, DR.. J. M. McMasters
of this city was asked to write, for
publication in The Herald, some let
tiers telling the good people of Sank
Centre about his experiences in Dixie
land The following exceedingly spicy
and readable letter arrived on last
publication day. 1t will bear reading:
MIAMI, Florida, %, 1909. Dear
Welles: In writing confidential let
ter to the public at large one meets
with several difficulties; firstly, where
to begin; secondly, when to stop.
Taking the Dixie Flyer from Chica-
go at $50 p. m, one wakes in Hender-
son, KY, next morning, and looking
out of the window, sees the old fami-
liar Ohio river rolling it's muddy
volume to join the Father of Waters
in the west. But, alas, it lacks many
a trait of the dear antebellum times,
SO fond to our boyish recollectiOns.
No columns of murky smoke, no jan
gle of bell or screech of whistle, or
Joyous chorus of negro roustabouts.
The river was destitute of life and
animation as mud turtle in January.
The railway octopus has long arms and
a deadly squeeze.
Leaving Henderson we make
straight across the blue grass, headed
for Nashville. To the casual observer
nothing has happened to this section
of the state since ga fob de "ah'.
The same dreary waste of corn and
cotton stubble, the same discouraged
men and women, the same homespun
and sunbonnet, the same snuff sticks
and drawing. If "grim-visaged war"
ever set his iron heel upon this land
of dreams and snuff, it has been for
given.
The same may be said of Tennessee.
About p. m. we roll in to the slums
of Nashville, being denied the privi-
lege of seeing its better side. AS we
rolled out of the city my eye caught
many familiar landmarks; the capitol,
the reservoir, St. Cloud hill, and
smoky row where in the sixties the
roar of cannon deadened the traffic of
once busy commonwealth. .lt.1.
A half hours ride brought us to
Murfreesboro, where the deadly battle
of Stone River was fought in the
winter of 1862. A few miles further
we come to the little village of La
Vergne where in the fall of '62 the
writer employed a few hours in dodg-
ing rebel bullets. From this. point
we follow the track of the Army of
the Tennessee, to Chickamauga, Look
out Mountain, Atlanta, Kenesaw,
Marietta, Stone Mountain and other
points pregnant with history.
Leaving Chickamauga after dark
we awake in southern Georgia to a
total change of landscape. For miles
and miles we run through forests of
turpentine pine. The turpentine
stills and portable sawmills are the
only evidence of enterprise, while an
occasional cypress swamp, draped
with Spanish moss, tells us we are
approaching the tropics.
At Jacksonville we begin to strain
our vision in search of orange groves,
but vainly; we have not yet reached
the promised land
Changing to the Florida Coast Rail-
road, a private enterprise of Mr.. Flag
Ter and which extends from Jackson
vile to Key West distance of $50
miles, we bore our way through the
tropical night, stopping every three
or four miles, until at midnight we
unload our wearied bodies at Miami,
the southermost town on the Florida
mainland. After a few hours of
broken slumber we eat hurried
breakfast, and armed with a few mil.
lion interrogation points, we start
out to interview the nomads of the
everglade. In about two hours and
minutes we, become satisfied that
there are more members of the 81
Don't Know" family in Florida than
there are alligators. However, a brief
tour of investigation yields. some very