Amelia Island - Diary Page

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Anastasia Island,

the lighthouse, a tall tower, deserted, with a walled yard and house, at its base. On our arrival a number of starved chickens and a hungry cat welcomed us, and found their account by it. We broke into the house finding a covered-up meal, or the remains of one, and household utensils. After some difficulty we effected a similarly forceable entrance into the light-house, and ascended to the summit, obtaining a view of the long irregularly-shaped island, which was quite uninhabited and overgrown with chapparal-like vegetation, everything looking as lonely as it must have done three centuries ago, when Pedro Menendez murdered the poor shipwrecked Hugonots there. Sea wards one discerned a dimly defined sand-bar, over which the Atlantic surf was rolling and reverberating with a continuous roar, reminding me of Niagara — we had heard it in the boat. Returning to the shore we strolled along the sand, picking up shells and stones and possessing ourselves of cakes of the coquina or shell-conglomorate, which was very curious. One of us found a decayed wave-washed bone — a human one -- all honey-combed by the action of the sea. It might have belonged to one of Jean Ribault's