A Sunken Boat on The St Johns River

The following story is a work of fiction.

 

A boat:

   She was running as fast as her legs would carry her and it still didn't seem fast enough! They would come any minute! Not daring to look back, legs flailing and arms pumping, she charged on. 

Would the sheriff come for her? She didn't really care anymore. She had done the thing and the monster was gone for sure! She clenched her teeth as a palm front hit her, stinging her cocoa cheek and catching her tangled mass of hair.

Rosie was a slave. Born a slave something like twelve years ago. Raised a slave and would have likely died a slave if she hadn't just done the damnedest thing imaginable and killed her master!

It had all been so easy after all was said and done! 

Each night after he had heaved himself onto her tiny, undeveloped body and sated his never ending lust, he drifted off in exhausted slumber for just that second. After she had gotten over the initial mortification of this nightly occurrence, she had schemed and planned this one precious night down to a detail!

"Wait til his ragged breathing leveled out to a soft sighing and his puffy eyelids drifted shut. Now, don't wiggle girl and you wait for just that second until you're sure he's nodded off."

She had timed it a dozen nights.

She had had the rock tucked under the top of the corn shuck mattress. (Standard fare even for one so honored with entertaining the master!) She had waited until the rest of her cabin mates were otherwise engaged with the harvest.

She had found a boat in the swamp and tied it tight. She had hidden a few bits of stolen food in a rag and tucked it up under the gunwales. She had found a corn crib slat and hid it, hoping that the thin lumber would suffice as an oar. The river's current ran to the north where the smart ones said was freedom!

And each night as dusk fell, she waited and prayed that there would come another more pretty or more desirable than her who could take his interest away from her. This had been her only home after all!

But of course that hadn't happened.

She had waited and bid her time until the perfect night to smash his scull to smithereens....

And then she ran.....

    I don't know about you, but when I stumble upon something like this abandoned boat, I conjure up all sorts of stories and fantasies. Seeing as this photo was taken in the south, well, I'm sure there were hundreds of stories like the one I just dreamed up. 


   I live about an hour from Dresden, Ontario which is the end of the underground railroad and location of Uncle Tom's Cabin.

One of these days, when we're over there, I'll take some pictures and show you too.


I hope if there ever was a young girl named Rosie that she made it to freedom and that she never had to endure such treatment. 

If I had been in that situation, could I have been brave enough to run?

This poor old skiff was awash and left abandoned in Fort Gates, where the ferry and fish camp are located. It made for nice picture taking, but when my mind wanders, well....

The patterns and designs are fascinating!

You can see the framework under water. How many years before it sinks or the bits and pieces just slip away?


Did this once sturdy vessel carry a young woman bound for freedom, dogs and blood thirsty men pounding after her. Did she hide it right here and catch the ferry or did a charitable person scoop her into their wagon headed for the safety of the north?


I just hope so!


All of these photos were again shot and loaded directly from my Nikon P90 and then posted without alteration of any kind.