Jethro Polk went to Florida with Andy Jackson to drive the Cherokees West. With that job over he returned to Florida
because he liked its unclaimed wilderness. Countless wild cattle roamed the palmettos, oak hamlets and swamps presented an opportunity
if they could be rounded, branded and fattened for market. In the two hundred fifty or sixty years since the Spanish abandoned St Augustine
scattered pockets of these critters wandered throughout Florida and numbered in the hundreds of thousands. In the late 1820’s a few other
“crackers” were doing a fair job of it so he thought he would hire out to one of them. Near an area called Kissimmee he signed on with a man
called Mizzel who had a tough but fair reputation as a leading drover. Thinking that driving cattle would be easier than Indians, Jethro felt he
had it made.
But those long horned critters didn’t come easy. Armed with razor sharp pointed horns spanning up to six feet, the wily stubborn beasts
instinctively tried to kill anything that threatened them, especially “crackers”. “Crackers” were cowboys who got their name from the whip
they used to drive cattle from the brush. This whip cut flesh when needed but sounded like a rifle going off. Its sound would spook any critter,
and very quickly those that tasted its flaming cuts around the nose or legs before.
Mizzel told Jethro to show him his gear. His gear consisted of two roan horses about fourteen hands tall, a roping saddle, a bedroll, a riata,
jerked meat, and a few cooking utensils including his canteen. He armed himself with a 55 caliber musket, a 14” inch knife, and an early
version of the navy colt percussion cap pistol. He had no whip having never used one. Mizzel with a glance knew he hired a green hand. But
who cared, if he didn’t bring in stock he wouldn’t be paid. Cowboys were paid by the head. Taking an unusual liking to Jethro, he told Jethro
to get two brush ponies no more than eleven hands tall, a ten by ten by ten canvas, some lard, extra flints, more shot and 15 foot rawhide whip
if he wanted a chance. Surprised but without argument Jethro returned the next day outfitted as Mizzel suggested.
Mizzel demonstrated the use of the whip from horseback by flicking a fly off a post twelve feet away without making a “crack”. Then he made it
crack when he cut a melon in half with his next stroke. “When you can do this Jethro you’ll be ready, so get to practicing! Without a good whip
hand you’d useless as a cowboy around here. We’ll leave in a week, so be ready”.
Jethro had good hand and eye coordination; so on the first day of practice only nicked his own backside a dozen times. Cutting a melon was
easy but making it crack at the same time was tougher. The flies went terrorized but unharmed. His horses threw him three times for getting
accidental back lashes. After three days of repetitious work and other hands’ laughter he got the hang of it. He felt he was destined to be a
“cracker”.
The band of eight crackers led by Mizzel headed southeast following the high grounds just west of the Kissimmee River through an area
controlled by the Seminole Indians who had eluded all attempts by the army to round them up. With the first Seminole War over there existed
an uneasy truce between crackers and the Osceola led Seminoles. Like the pirates who holed up near Arcadia on the Peace River Mizzel
knew if they stayed in camp at night and moved only by day the Indians would let them be. One of the pirates told him that any bounty hunter
or white man moving at night was dead meat quickly dispatched if Indians found them. The Indians allowed the pirates to move in daylight and
in effect guarded them at night because outsiders did not know this sacred rule.
Mizzel’s planned simply. Using the high ground allowed a man on horseback to spot small groups of cattle grazing from a good distance.
They would stop and build one or two 5-10 acre pens scattered along the way to Lake Istokpooga where a larger corral would be constructed.
These pens were made from thorny brush and fallen trees dragged into position backed up to one of the many lakes that dotted the route.
Extra mounts and some grub were left at each pen by hands who would be working it in the days to come. These holding pens would allow
the crackers to gather and temporarily hold 50 to 80 head and thus build a larger herd in stages which could be driven to market from the main
corral. Forty eight days of heavy labor later the pens and corral were completed. Now the difficult work began, building a herd.
Back tracking their trail they slowly spread out in twos thoroughly checking for the best routes to bring the small herds to Lake Istokpooga.
Mizzel took Jethro with him feeling that was fairer to his more experienced hands. By plan they moved toward the northern of the two holding
pens but used a different route than Pete and Witt who went in a more westerly way there.
After three days steady ride they started droving. Jethro spotted a group of cattle grazing along the edge of some thickets and motioned to
Mizzel who was already circling toward them. Moving slowly Jethro entered the dry brushy oak hamlet a hundred yards or so from Mizzel.
He had begun to appreciate the small horse he rode because he only had to duck the many low limbs; his larger mounts would have been
useless here. The noise created by the breaking branches, twigs and palmetto fronds worked making the cattle restless and moved them
out in the open. Whip in hand Jethro began to think this was easy, when he heard a large animal crashing at him. A 1,000 pound bull with
a six foot rack headed straight for him as his pony reared. His whip flashed instinctively cracking open a gash on the bull’s nose as it charged
by. Stunned by the sting the bull veered into the brush just before it should have gored them.
The pony’s dancing let Jethro know the horse wanted no part of that critter. Jethro reached down to pat the pony’s neck and felt wet sticky
sweat, no by god it was blood on his hand. Looking down he saw an incision about eight inches long which had just missed the pony’s jugular.
That damned critter nearly killed his horse! Angered and wary he began to follow the bull which left a bloody trail from the gash on its nose.
Again and again the whip cracked. The chase was on. A crazy cracker riding a wise pony faced off in a thicket against a wild and mean bull.
The bull circled and charged the dodging pony taking another lash to its flank for the effort. An hour later they emerged from what was left
of the thicket and the bloodied bull wandered off to join the other fifteen head which had been rounded up by Mizzel.
Mizzel laughing said, “There ain’t much beef left on that varmint, do you think it was worth the fight?”
A bone weary and torn up Jethro replied, “It’s a hell of a lot of fun though. How’d you get so many?”
Mizzel knowing he hired a good hand said, “With that ruckus goin on in thar the rest came out easy. Come on let’s get em to the pen
before dark.”
Four hours of whip cracking later as the sun dipped away they were met by Pete Bartow and Jake Whitt. Pete pointed to the horizon
asking, “What took you so long, is it the company you keep?” Silhouetted on the horizon, a trio of Seminoles made their presence known.
With their 16 head mingled with the 23 head in the pen, they went to the campfire for coffee. Pete volunteered to tend the horses and used
lard as a salve for the pony’s wound.
Around the fire they started comparing tales about each man’s day’s work. Whitt started by saying, “You know guys Pete and I had about a
thousand head rounded up but didn’t want to show you up so we only brought back Pete’s catch.”
Pete overhearing this shouted, “Did a gator try to bite your horse Jethro? It might have been the same one that spooked Whitt. You know he
said a 40 foot gator clean bit in half a cow he was driving. After that I couldn’t get away from him all day. If Whitt wasn’t so fat, I would have
thought he was my shadow. Witt did provide me some shade though.”
Mizzel added to the banter, “Pete you’re so skinny you don’t cast a shadow so I believe ya.” He added, “You know boys Jethro is more of a
farmer than a cowboy, you should see the forest he cleared today. It only took him an hour to clear out 15 acres! Or course he had some help
from that little rabbit he was chasing. Only the big trees are left thar for a little shade.”
Whitt retorted, “If we had been thoughtful we’d brought a plow along so Jethro could plant some tobacco and corn. Come to think on it that cut
on the pony was probably made by his whip.” He laughed, “Pete is full of it. The only gator we saw today I plugged when it tried to grab that
skinny carcass I call a partner. It was too big for good meat so we skinned him and left the hide staked out.”
As the newcomer it wasn’t right for Jethro to contribute, he just leaned back on his canvas and chuckled while looking out into the star lit sky.
A movement in the dark caught his eye so he rose with his rifle as two men on appaloosa ponies rode up to the fire.
Mizzel motioned Jethro to lay the gun down as he stood to greet the two warriors. He gestured that they join him by the fire which after proudly
dismounting they did. Mizzel gestured, “Where was the third brave?” He knew the Seminoles many tricks to steal horses and a common one
was using diverted attention. Not getting an answer he led the senior brave nearer the pen and with a torch showed him the cattle and their
eight horses. It was clear that Mizzel’s small camp blocked any exit for the animals, thus without threat the senior brave knew he was outmatched
this time around. They returned to the fire for some jerky stew brewing in a pot when the third brave came in carrying a small wild pig which
was offered for the feast. The very few words that shared between the parties were translated by Pete, who had an Indian bride, but he lack
of talk did not interfere with the brotherhood of man that night.
In the morning the braves returned and were given two head of cattle which were immediately taken away. By that day’s end twenty more head
were added to the pen, and on the fourth day they began the drive to Lake Istokpooga with 84 head.
On the third trail day Pete rode ahead to alert the other four hands where to drive their catch to join them. They met in the middle of the
fourth day combining their catches to about 180 head arriving at Lake Istokpooga three days later. From that time on three men would
stay with the main herd at all times and be rotated with the other five doing round up work at the pens. This cycle continued until around
600 head were assembled and branded with Mizzel’s double Z at Lake Istokpooga in late April.
Late April meant drought and drought meant fire. One strike of lightning could send most of Florida to flame if the winds were right. But
fire also meant the rejuvenation of the flora so necessary to sustain the life of the many natural and rich grasses and plants which overtime
would be choked out by larger species of plants. The trick for the cowboy was avoiding the raging fires while finding the lush new growth
along a cattle drive to fatten up the herd. No rain also meant that watering spots would be dried along the trails to Punta Gorda or would
be few and far between.
In mid May billowing clouds began appear along the western horizon along with the pillars of smoke from wild fires, Mizzel knew it was time
to move the herd out. He had taken Pete Bartow with him to negotiate a pact with the Seminoles which would give his crew and herd safe
passage day and night but only during the drive in return for 56 head of cattle to be left behind. Pete knew enough of their language to help
make the deal quicker than the ten days it took; he simply wanted time with his woman. They sealed the deal at a Seminole compound near
Lake Okeechobee with Osceola present. The Indians wanted assurances that the white eyed soldiers would not be getting the beef. Mizzel’s
promise that the beef would put on boats and sent to Cuba was finally believed when affirmed by an Arcadian pirate to be true. Four Indian
scouts were to come along to verify agreement and be paid four head each for their time away from their wives. Not surprisingly none of these
braves were ever sighted on the trail, but their signs were ever present.
They moved the 540 head herd southwest as day broke hoping to make a high ground lake that night (later to be named Lake Placid). As
the elevation increased to 300 feet the parched burnt over land offered no relief from the heat or graze for the cattle only the yellow flies
that swarmed everywhere were being fed.
In the burnt grass Jethro saw a weird thing and asked Mizzel about when he circled by. “Mizzel, I just seen a round fat bluish colored snake
eat a rattler, am I crazy from the heat?”
“Nah”, replied Mizzel, “Them blue snakes eat rattlers, don’t that beat all! Rattlers are bad, and can kill a man, them striped indigoes are deadly
too. But moccasins are so nasty not even gators mess with them.” He sighed, “Hope we get to that lake soon the cattle need water. Ten to
twelve miles is a long way for a herd to travel in a day with no grass. When they smell that water they may stampede.”
Clouds built over their heads and it started to rain with a few scattered bolts of lightning followed by thunder as they kept gentling circling the
rear of the herd. Pete rode by smiling, “I’ve got dinner tonight. Two of these land turtles, heard say there good eatin. My horse nearly broke her
leg stepping in their hole.”
The herd drifted forward and settled around the lake just after dark. The campfire lit the hillside covered with burnt trees and sprouts of grass
peeking through the amber black ground. A man could nearly see the grass grow. Turtle soup was cooking in a pot as the men relaxed after
droving sixteen hours and getting nine or ten miles behind them and the herd. With luck they’d reach Punta Gorda in seven or eight more days.
An early morning visitor startled Jethro awake. It sounded like a bull frog in his sleep but he knew it was a bull gator out courting as he awoke.
The ten foot critter ambled toward the staked out horses that created a fuss by stomping and snorting. Jethro reached for his musket but a hand
in the dark stopped him from getting it. Mizzel stood there in the dark and showed his blade and rope to Jethro. He whispered, “A gun shot may
spook the cattle let’s drive that gator away or kill him.”
Seeing the men coming between him and a good meal, the gator charged forward covering twenty yards in a blink of the eye. Jethro answered
with his whip but with no “crack”, which only stopped the critter long enough to change directions. And that was toward Jethro. Mizzel dashed
up from the rear and got a loop around the gator’s jaws drawing it tight. Jethro fell on the critters thrashing head a jammed his knife to its haft
in the beast’s left eye. For about twenty minutes Jethro rode that dieing but bucking gator… he was afraid to let go. Laughter filled the camp as
the sun rose when Whitt said, “Where’s your saddle Jethro?”
“Jethro, you become a good all round hand”, said Mizzel, “We may have lost a pony or stampeded the herd. I’m crediting you five extra head at
tally time when we get these critters into Punta Gorda.” He turned to the others with, “Get some coffee and let’s get em moving men!”
Three hard days of driving through and around swamp and slough they made their fourth camp just ahead of sunset. Located about fifteen
miles south and a little east of Arcadia, they were surprised to see six riders coming in from the north. Mizzel laid his rifle across his arm with
the trigger finger in place. He faced away from the small camp fire that brewed tonight’s fare and toward the strangers which scattered out as
they approached. Mizzel doubted that these white men wanted anything good. With Jethro and Whitt circling the herd far from sight to the east
he told the other men to casually find a place to take quick cover if needed.
One of the riders hailed the camp asking if he could come in for some coffee which Mizzel motioned he could. The other five dismounted about
100 yards out. As the leader approached Mizzel recognized an old foe in Jack Weeks, a reputed pirate from Arcadia he swapped blows with
before.
Weeks immediately shouted, “If it ain’t old Mizzel, I should have known it was you! Did you come out this way to get your ass kicked again or
can we forget it and move on to the business that brought me?”
“Your kind of out your territory aren’t ya Jack?” growled Mizzel. “Come in and set by the fire. You’d better call your boys in too unless they want
a taste of the Noles… it’s night and you can’t be breaking The Rule.”
At six foot six getting off a cowpony meant barely shifting one foot from his stirrup to the ground. Weeks’ wiry frame uncoiled like a panther and
his black eyes took in the setup he faced. “Mizzel can’t say I’ve ever liked anyone except my squaw and our litter, but you’re the closest except
for them. Why is it we just naturally feud? You know I’m the only white eye with a passage at night.”
“Have your boys leave their weapons on their horses and come to the fire. I don’t like you one whit Weeks for your way of doing things, but
respect you for carving out a niche in these parts”, retorted Mizzel. “What brings ya here?”
Grabbing a cup of coffee Weeks came toward Mizzel with more than a little resentment in his crooked smile saying, “It wasn’t neighborly of
you bypassing Arcadia with the herd. Sooner than you know it others will be following the trail you cut which will hurt my business. Is that
how you treat a friend?”
“You cutting herds for being brought through Arcadia got us in a standoff before. I wouldn’t pay you then and won’t now. I was just trying to
save you the embarrassment of tasting my whip again Jack,” snapped Mizzel. “You aren’t a friend; you’re more like a buzzard feeding on the
work of others, why the hell ya come here?”
“Well things have changed since the last time you were hereabouts in “26”. So this time you will pay up or face another choice dead in eyes.
No ship is safe leaving Punta Gorda which has cows on it that haven’t been cut, my mates see to that. Therefore the buyers won’t buy stock
unless it’s been approved by me because paid for cattle lost at sea are hard to explain. Last, you made the same deal with Osceola, why not
me? Fair is fair,” Jack smirked. “Of course you could take twenty days more and drive them to Tampa, but I can nearly guarantee you’ll lose
half of them in stampedes along the way. Give up fifty head, now, or pay a lot more later on, that’s the long and the short of it. If you haven’t
agreed before you reach Punta Gorda, I’ll put the word out and nobody will even look at your cows! Come on boys lets go and give this
cracker some room to call his shot.”
When Jethro and Whitt returned from their circling shift Mizzel told them about Jack Weeks’ visit. Surprising everyone Whitt put a new
idea out. “Ya know my brother Jake just started running cows southwest of here at place called Estero. He said the Spanish send boats
up the Caloosahatchee River and pick up cattle for Cuba quiet like there. They don’t like either the pirates or the Indians. Mizzel I’d bet it
is only about a day or so farther down there than Punta Gorda.”
“Do you know the way there?” was Mizzel’s instant reply.
“No,” Whitt wondered, “but I’ve visited there coming by boat and rode around there a piece.”
“You and Jethro circle ahead and find a trail. We’ll drift slowly west another two days like we’re fattening them up. Get back by then. Leave
before daybreak.” ordered Mizzel.
By day’s first light Jethro and Whitt rode through the western end of what later would be known as Babcock Ranch and mapped a route
which required crossing only a half mile or so of swamp. They rode as quickly as the palmetto strewn terrain would allow and in fifteen
hours found the Caloosahatchee west of a place later to be named
Alva. After making a simple camp, afternoon thunderheads filled the sky delivering a gully washer and three inches of standing water.
They laughed it off saying they needed bathes anyway. They hung their canvases between trees like hammocks and went to sleep.
Before morning’s light the air hummed and horses kicked up a storm. A cloud of mosquitoes surrounded every warm thing. Jethro and
Witt hit the trail without saying a word. Nothing deserved to be bled to death this way. “Damn,” Jethro thought, “that long canvas when
doubled over saved my pony. Mizzel sure knows what to do!”
Witt and Jethro trotted north a good clip through standing water until the mosquitoes backed off for a spell. They took breather and lathered
their skin and the ponies exposed areas with lard then continued. Deer and other wild critters splashed out of their way. The day got hotter
as the sun rose and water turned to steam that blasted their faces. Early in the afternoon of the second day they begin to pick up strays from
the now scattered herd. They found other cows dead from exhaustion and mosquito bites. With about 50 head they found Mizzel’s camp
around four o’clock. They built a large fire, started coffee then waited.
Near dark Mizzel and Pete came in last with around a hundred head. “Boys we’ve lost about 100 head”, mourned Mizzel, “I’ll put it to a vote
where we take the rest after we hear from Witt. What do you think Whitt?”
“Fellas you told me and Jethro about the fifty head Weeks wants, and Jethro and I charted a good trail to the Caloosahatchee but can’t
guarantee anything from there.
We may get the same money per head and pick few more on the way to Estero, do you agree Jethro?”
“Hell we don’t need a vote, whatever Mizzel says goes with me, Whitt, but I like our chances south” Jethro put in. “We owe it to ourselves
and Mizzel to make as much on this drive as we can.”
“Boys lets put it to a… “Mizzel started.
Pete interrupted, “We’ll head em south tomorrow”, as everyone nodded in agreement.
“Okay men, but lets do it this way, we’ll hang around here like we’re trying to fatten them up and gathering strays until Weeks’ spies check
us out like they do everyday. Then we’ll push em out hard and fast and try to cross the Caloosahatchee the day after next. Let’s all get as
much rest as we can tonight, the herd is tired so they won’t wander” said Mizzel as he settled next to fire.
Morning broke with fast bans of rain showers moving northeast when Pete, Jethro and Mizzel met by the fire. “I think we’re in for a blow, Mizzel.
Feels just like a hurricane to me” Jethro flatly stated. “Look at them flocks of birds all flying southeast, I don’t think them pirates will be coming
this way today. They know the signs too and will be getting their boats to safe haven”.
Mizzel shouted, “Head em out!” as a storm ban ended and the sun shown for the first time that day.
In the two days that followed the weather worsened with each passing ban. The forty to fifty mile an hour winds came from the south with the
bans moving northeast when they reached the Caloosahatchee at night fall. They drove the herd across even though whitecaps broke over
the cattle’s’ heads as weird full moon tried to show itself on occasion. Jethro saw Pete’s horse flounder and disappear in the black water. He
got to Pete and threw him a rope only to have a falling oak tree on the south bank take Pete too. Damn, a twister he thought. The last thing
he saw was that ornery bull he drove from the thicket months before come flying straight at him but upside down. He felt the critter’s horn
jam through his chest as he lifted into black nothingness.
Two weeks later, Zeke Whitt was scouting the damage and rounded up about 50 head of trail broke cattle all branded with the Mizzel double Z.
He thought it strange finding Mizzel’s brand this far south especially with Indian signs around. Amid the broken limbs of an uprooted massive
oak he found his brother’s J. W. initialed saddle still cinched to the bones of cowpony and picked over by buzzards. Gathering the saddle he
drove the small herd back to Estero while pondering a man’s fate.
The four Indian scouts which followed the herd survived the storm and rounded up 16 strays. As usual they simply ignored Zeke Whitt and
went about their business unseen. On the way back to their Okeechobee compound they found half dead Pete Bartow clinging to a fallen
oak in the Caloosahatchee. Because they honored Pete’s squaw’s Carlos bloodline they brought him back to her.
Ma Nature played her hand of death and renewal once again, but any cracker or Indian accepted her whims as part of life.
why not read the rest Crackertails