Having become weary of tent-life, Madam Joe proposed to her husband the erection of a palmetto hut. Mr. Joe, as the madam always called her husband, drove the stakes for the frame and gathered the palmetto fans or branches. The madam mounted the roof and thatched it; but her work was performed so badly that the first shower of rain deluged the interior, and its inmates sought refuge under the table. The hut was subsequently re-thatched, and three of its corners made fast to trees, which prevented the wind from blowing it down. Soon after the completion of the hut, their provisions ran short, and Mr. Joe started in a canoe for Tampa to replenish them. On his return, adverse winds blew his frail craft around Shaw's Point into Palmasola Bay, and becoming bewildered, he landed at Sarasota instead of Terraceia. After being buffeted about by the wind and waves for more than a week, he finally reached home. During his absence, Madam Joe and her child had no companion save the dog Bonaparte. The panthers, wild hogs and owls made the nights hideous with their screams, growls and hootings. One night a raid was made by an owl on the chickens roosting on the trees overhanging the hut. Madam Joe seized an old musket of the Methodist persuasion, which usually went off at half-cock, with the intention of frightening away the "wild varmints," but it was unloaded. Never having loaded a musket, she was in a quandary whether to put in first the powder or the shot. Luckily, she put in the powder before the shot, and stepping to the door of the hut, discharged the musket into the tops of the trees. She put in too much powder, and like another gun we read about, it
"Bore wide the mark and kicked its owner over."
The owl escaped that time in consequence of being at the wrong end of the musket. It was subsequently killed by Mr. Joe, and peace reigned once more among the chickens. Madam Joe subsequently became an expert with both the shot-gun and rifle, and if reports are reliable, her unerring aim has caused more than one red-skin to make a hasty exit to the "happy hunting-grounds." She can also ride a horse astride or otherwise--seldom otherwise--like a Camanche.
Becoming disgusted with their frail palmetto hut, Madam and Mr. Joe felled the trees and commenced the erection of a log-pen house, consisting of two rooms, with a wide passage running between them. As there were no saw-mills in the country, boards could not be had at any price. The roof of the house was covered with split cedar planks, and the interstices between the logs filled with moss and clay. A chimney was improvised of sticks plastered with mud. Subsequently, glazed sash for the windows were imported from New Orleans. Meanwhile the axe had not been idle. The stately live oaks and graceful palms around the house had been felled and burned, the land grubbed, and a good-sized vegetable garden was in successful cultivation. Fort Brooke, some thirty miles distant, offering a good market for their surplus produce, they hired a man with a boat to transport and sell their vegetables. Although bountiful crops rewarded their labor, they were not entirely happy. Madam Joe was anxious that her only sister, residing in New York, should emigrate with her family to Florida. But how was the matter to be accomplished without money? Where there is a will, there is always a way to accomplish things which at first sight seem to be impossibilities. The matter was laid before Col. W. G. Belknap, the commander of Fort Brooke, who cheerfully advanced the required funds, and Mr. Joe left immediately in a schooner for New York, _via_ Key West. The voyage was long and tedious, but it was accomplished, and in due course of time, Mr. Joe returned safely with his brother-in-law, wife and child.