Some Outstanding Problems in Bartram:
Or What Did Billy Know and How Could He Have Known It?
Today, more than two--hundred years since the publication of William Bartram's Travels, the book is universally regarded as a minor classic. In Florida, where many of the book’s most famous passages occurred, the book is an outright classic. And for good reason. Bartram, was the first native--born American to write a book of literary consequence about our region. Then too, Bartram's tome is responsible in a great part for the way Florida came to be thought of. Bartram loved Florida. He regarded the state as North America's Eden. He set the tone for much of the writing about the state that came after him.
A cliched term in writing circles these days is "resonance." But resonant, cliched or not, is a correct designation for Bartram’s Travels. The book was published in 1791 in America. The press run was about a thousand copies and was not reprinted in the U.S. until 1928 (Travels Naturalist’s xxiii). The first British edition came out the following year‑‑just as the new crop of British writers were giving up on the staid, formulaic rationalism of Neoclassicism and turning toward the Romantic. In spite of its seemingly low sales in Bartram’s homeland, before the turn of the 19th Century, editions were published in Ireland, Germany, Holland, France, Vienna and possibly Sweden.
According to N. Bryllion Fagan, Bartram's Travels was "the first genuine and artistic interpretation of the American landscape." Given the book's subject matter, natural history, and Bartram's poetic and artistic interpretation, little wonder that the book was (again following Fagin) "to fascinate Romantic poets and nature lovers in many parts of the world," which it certainly did. Coleridge copied many passages, sometimes whole pages from Travels, into his notebook (128). Professor John Livingston Lowes, in Road to Xanadu, has shown that "none of the books Coleridge was reading during the gestation of "The Ancient Mariner" left more lively images in his memory than Bartram's Travels" (Lowes 46). Similarly, the Euphrates in Coleridge's "Kubla Khan" flowed from Bartram's Florida rather than the Mideast’s Mesopotamia.
The Wordsworths--both brother William and sister Dorothy--appear to have been readers and admirers of Bartram. Lowes tries to show, perhaps a bit tenuously, that Dorothy’s notebook entry on daffodils--which brother William turned into the famous poem--was inspired by Bartram. However, his exegesis on her "Floating Island" rings true, given the masses of floating vegetation which are common on the Saint Johns River and elsewhere in Florida.
Among the other writers of note who owe some degree of homage to Bartram are Southey, Shelley, Tenneyson. Carlyle asked Emerson if he had read the book and expressed the belief that "all American libraries ought to provide themselves with that kind of book" (Fagin 6). Is it merely an accident that Emerson's "Nature" and Bartram's general philosophy of nature are so closely parallel, asks Fagin? Thoreau could be expected to have treasured Bartram‑‑and indeed he did. Even Lafcadio Hearn seems to have fallen under Bartram's sway in Leaves from the Diary of an Impressionist. Not surprisingly Chateaubriand uses Bartram as the background for his poem, Atala, which was set in Florida, a place Chateaubriand had never visited.
the early success of his work‑‑or at least what from
the vantage point of two centuries seems the early success of his
might assume William Bartram was a member in good standing of the nascent
literary and intellectual establishment
of colonial and federalist America. In
a major way he was.
William's father was born a simple Quaker farmer in
Pennsylvania, he became the leading American botanist; Linnaeus
called him "the greatest natural botanist in the world"
(Fagin 1). Crevecoeur
devoted one of his epistles to John Bartram;
he Frenchified the name as
John Bertram in Letters from an American
John established the first botanical garden in
the country and cofounded with Ben Franklin the American
Philosophical Society. So,
yes, young William Bartram had advantages
of an intellectual and artistic sort not available to
many youngsters, especially in a new country like the British American
William had difficulty making the most of his
opportunities. That the boy had talent, in drawing in particular,
was apparent early on. But
his impractical ways thoroughly
vexed his father. An attempt to
establish young Billy‑‑he was 22 at the
time‑‑as a trader in North
Carolina under the tutelage of his uncle was a failure.
Billy then accompanied his father on a botanical tour of what was then
known as East Florida. Billy
was powerfully attracted to the
subtropics and at the end of the journey he begged his father
to be allowed to stay in Florida, where the latter set him up as
an indigo planter on the St. Johns near Picolata.
Billy was 27 then‑‑and he failed again.
Laurens, soon to be president of the Continental
Congress, left this description of Billy and his plantation.
"A gentle, mild young
man, [with] no wife, no friend, no companion,
no neighbor, no human inhabitant within nine miles of him . . .
totally devoid of all comforts of life, an unpleasant and
unhealthy situation, six negroes, rather plagues than aids to
him, of whom one is so insolent as to threaten his life, one a
useless expense, one a helpless child"--perhaps
this experience gave Bartram his
lifelong detestation of slavery (Fagin 9).
In any case, William
returned to the Philadelphia area and the mercantile
life where in his late twenties and early thirties, he ran up
debts totaling more than 100 pounds.
He dealt with these debts in
his usual responsible fashion, by deserting his creditors and running back
to Carolina where he wrote a botanical correspondent of his
father in England, one Dr. Forthergill, suggesting he sponsor a
botanical expedition to Florida. Fothergill’s
true interest was northern plants that could be grown in England, but as a
Friend as well as friend, he
thought it "a pity that such a genius
should sink under duress," and offered to bankroll the
the age of 33 in 1773 William Bartram embarked on what
was to become the most famous botanical journey ever undertaken
in America. The outbreak
of hostilities with Britain forced Bartram to break off his explorations and
return to the rebelling colonies. For
whatever reason, Bartram did not
prepare a manuscript until almost fifteen years
after the end of his truncated journey.
standards, Bartram's Travels may have
seemed a success. George
Washington, John Adams and Thomas Jefferson
subscribed to the work (Travels Naturalist’s xxii).
We have already discussed the editions
brought out in Europe, none of which it appears sought
the approval of the author. In
other words, he wasn't paid for the
foreign publications or perhaps even knew of them.
But what William did know
about was the controversy that raged around his
book at home. For one
thing, his approach didn't seem right for
a scientific treatise: "Many
rhapsodical effusions might have been
omitted with advantage to the work" a reviewer in The
Universal Asylum and Columbian Magazine wrote (xxiv).
"In description he is
rather too luxuriant and florid to merit the palm of
chastity and correctness," said the massachusetts review.
Then there were those who
objected to matters of fact: "it
is much to be regretted that with
his opportunities this amiable author had
not written with a greater degree of precision."
This last reviewer by the
way was a Floridian‑‑non other than Bonaparte's
nephew, Achille Murat; he wrote several decades after the book's
publication but his is a typical specimen of the criticism
leveled at Bartram.
Bartram did, perhaps by virtue of the family position,
maintain a solid reputation as a botanist nevertheless.
He was offered the chair
of botany at the University of Pennsylvania
before his book came out, and Thomas Jefferson wanted to appoint
him as botanist to the Lewis and Clark expedition afterwards,
both of which he turned down. Still,
Bartram's old age was vexed by
what Alexander Baldwin called "suspicions of his veracity.
It was truly a feast to me
to observe how his time‑worn countenance
brightened up at the vindication of his character, which I
informed him I was prepared to offer" (Travels Fothergill
the years after Bartram's death in 1822 the pendulum
continued the reverse swing. Bit
by bit, scientific observers replicated
Batram's observations. Initially,
for instance, Sir Charles Lyell
expressed skepticism about the behavior of
alligators as reported by Bartram.
Later he wrote, "all my inquiries
here [in Georgia] and in Louisiana convinced me that he
may be depended on.” Other
naturalists such as Major Le Conte expressed
similar doubts; in LeConte's case, as well in others, he
reversed himself later. "For
my own part I must say that having traveled
in his track I have tested his accuracy, and can bear
testimony to the absolute correctness of all his statements.”
twentieth century Bartram had become established in
scientific circles as a reliable source on the natural history of
the regions in which he'd traveled.
In other words, his observations
were accepted generally without critical comment.
To the close observer, however, there were still some troublesome
elements in Bartram's Travels.
Francis Harper, a research associate
at the John Bartram Association in Philadelphia, wrote,
"a large difficulty with nearly all [his] critics has been on a
sort of insistence on a literal interpretation of everything he
wrote. They overlook the
fact of his dreamy, impractical, poetic nature,
which, in the view of a fair-minded
person should entitle him to a
proverbial poetic license--in
his literary flights" (128).
"In Bartram's intellectual make-up
there was an undeniable streak of carelessness," Harper noted
(130). "His indifference and
inaccuracy in matters of dates, distances
and dimensions constitute a virtual "blind spot" in his
mental vision. For
instance, Bartram's often claimed to have
ascended the St. John's or River San Juan as he liked to call it
for more than 400 miles. In
that case the headwaters of the stream
would be somewhere in Cuba. Harper
goes on to say: "His
memory was evidently faulty" and points out the protracted
spells of illness Bartram suffered by way of allowance.
Bartram's "erroneous estimates of distances and dimensions may
have been due, at least in part, to defective eyesight.”
The chronology of the Travels,
Harper continues, "is so sadly confused as to have misled
practically all who have attempted to cite his dates."
Yet in spite of all this,
Harper concludes "there can be no question of
Bartram's fundamental integrity as a naturalist."
And as noted above,
Harper's conclusion is the prevailing one in the
for the moment the general high regard Bartram is
held, there are several problems in Bartram that have not yet been
satisfactorily resolved. This
paper will examine two of them. The
first is the problem of the bird‑‑that of Bartram's Vultur
sacra. The second is the
problem of the mystery palm tree.
the field marks Bartram notes for
his vulture sacra or painted vulture are a bare neck of "deep
bright yellow intermixed with
coral red . . . . The crown of
the head is red; there are lobed
lappets of a reddish orange color which lie on the base of
the upper mandible. . . The
plumage is generally white or cream color
except the quill feathers of the wings and two or three
rows of the coverts which are of a beautiful dark brown" (Travels
138). The only problem with
his sighting is that no one but Bartram
has ever recorded a bird of this sort in Florida‑‑or any
place else in America north of central Mexico.
palm‑trees here seem to be of a different species from the
cabbage tree; their straight trunks are sixty, eighty, or ninety
feet high, with a beautiful taper, of bright ash colour, until
within six or seven feet of the top, where it is a fine green
colour, crowned with an orb of rich green plumed leaves" (113).
The tree described here is immediately recognizable as the
royal palm. As the name
implies, the royal palm is a regal
tree. What other palm, or any
other plant for that matter, has
a trunk of such distinctive color, ash gray.
Then there is the graceful
taper and the excessive height the plant commonly
attains, as Bartram observes, 60, 80 or 90 feet.
One of the royal palm's
more unusual features is the way the bright green
leafstalk clings to the trunk. The
plumed or feather‑like leaves shoot
out, as Bartram notes, at a ninety degree angle forming a
sort of crown.
Bartram located this stand of trees a few miles south of the
present crossing of Hiway 40 over the Saint Johns.
Hiway 40 is the road that
connects Ocala with the northern Daytona suburb of
Ormond Beach. Unlike the
king vulture, the royal palm has long been
known to be a member of the natural community of Florida.
The problem is that the tree is quite cold tender.
Its requirements may be termed tropical.
Bartram is the only observer
who has reported it outside of the far--southern
tropical reaches of the
peninsula. In short, he reports
royal palms a distance of
approximately two hundred miles north of any other observer.
question then is how did Bartram happen to report that
bird and find those trees where he claims to have?
And what difference does it make in our understanding of Bartram?
Bartram research associate, who labored
long over the manuscripts of both Bartrams--the
answer is quite simple.
"We may conclude," he argues,
"that the King Vulture
actually occurred in Florida in Bartram's time, although
it has not been definitely recorded since then.
Certain severe freezes in
subsequent years may have brought about a local extinction of the bird.
In 1835, for example," Harper continues,
"a severe northwest wind blew for 10 days, and the thermometer
dropped to 7 degrees; the St. John's River was partly frozen, and
"all" fruit was killed to the ground" (Introduction
359). Similarly regarding
that stand of royal palms, he
reasons (following Cooper 1861) that the
trees "have not been reported so far north in Florida by
subsequent observers, and it is presumed that they did not
survive the `freeze' of 1835" (354).
face of it, that argument seems reasonable enough.
Tropical creatures and vegetation are known not to be fond of cold.
True enough, it has been very cold
in Florida many times since Bartram traversed the peninsula
before the Revolutionary War. Aside
from 1835, there were the Great
Freezes of 1894‑5. More
recently the peninsula has experienced the iron freezes of the
1980s‑‑1983, 85, and 89, where the
temperature fell to 7 degrees or lower in some of the northern
portions of the state. And
there have been many other similar freezes
in 1917, 1940, in the late fifties and the early sixties.
And that is exactly the problem with Harper's argument.
Yes, there was a super-dooper
freeze in 1835, but just as it wasn't
the last such freeze, why assume it was the first one in
however many thousands of years that would be required for
tropical species to migrate into central Florida?
There is internal evidence
aplenty in Bartrams' private
journals that the climate of
central Florida was at least as sharp then in the
winter months as it is now. For
instance, when Bartram was in the
area of present-day
Palatka on November 8-10
(probably in 1774--Billy
could never keep his years straight), he recorded a
spell of unusually brisk weather which included two and perhaps
three straight nights of below freezing weather (Travels
Fothergill 163). And this was in
early November. Although
modern record minimums in the area do fall to the freezing point, such
temperatures are very very rare. Bartram
had spent at least two and perhaps three winters in Florida previously in his
failed career as an indigo planter. He
did not remark on the unusualness of the weather.
there was the even more peculiar meteorological event
that occurred at almost the same location where William described
the mystery palm. His
father John Bartram camped near that spot on his tour
of the Saint Johns in the winter of 1765‑66
where he recorded a 26
degree overnight low on the morning of January 3 (John Bartram 39).*
in order to make a definite determination for or
against Harper's argument about the climate of central Florida,
hard scientific data was needed. The
herptologist Dr. Jack Myers, suggested pollen studies might be able to provide
the clues required.**
As fortune would have it, one such study was conducted at
Mud Lake, Marion County, Florida.
Bartram cited the mystery palms
a few miles south of present‑day Hiway 40.
Mud Lake is a few miles
north of Hiway 40 and perhaps twenty miles west of the
location of the mystery trees.
pollen of individual plant
species is easily identifiable. Since
fossil pollen is preserved in the sediment of lake bottoms, core
samplings are taken and radio‑carbon dated.
A careful study of the sediment,
therefore, can yield a historical record of plants
growing in the locality. The
plant community, so I reasoned
should, or at least could give evidence about the climate
over a period of some centuries.
A. Watts, who is on the faculty of Trinity College,
Dublin Ireland, conducted the sampling and resultant analysis.
Watts' prefatory remarks seemed to hold out especial promise for
the problem of tropical palm trees in a warm‑temperate area of
the state. "The
Florida peninsula," Watts noted, "where pine and
oak forests grade into stands of subtropical vegetation is a very
suitable area for the study of Pleistocene movements of the
temperate‑subtropical ‘tension zone’" (632).
all, isn't Bartram's sighting of the tropical palms in
warm‑temperate central Florida a report of the northward movement
of this tension zone'? Just
as heartening was the notice that unidentified
pollen accounted for only about two percent of all
recovered. So what did Watts report?
Namely that the tree pollen examined
were basically, pine, red maple, wax myrtle, elm, ash
and cypress. In sum, he
says, "it may be concluded that the
vegetation and environment of Mud Lake has changed little in the
last 5000 years" (637).
In short, he offers no evidence for holding
that subtropical species may have found a favorable refuge in the
I am not by formal training qualified to interpret
this data, I wrote the author. I
explained my problem was essentially
one of literary exegesis that required scientific
analysis and asked him to render an opinion.
In particular, I mentioned
that I felt the lack of pollen from other subtropical
species was a puzzle. Why
wouldn't a climate that fostered the nurture
of royal palms not also accommodate some of the
subtropical species these plants grow in association with farther
Watts did not answer, but Dr. Barbara Leyden of the
University of South Florida, who Mark Brenner of the University
of Florida directed me to, did. Dr.
Leyden’s return correspondence cited a past occurrence of royal palms in the
area, no doubt Bartram’s own citing, the fact that palm pollen, due to its
unique structure, would not necessarily turn up in core samples, and that
"the 1700s were colder than today.”
Photos above were taken at the point Harper identified as Battle Island.
Obviously, the foregoing data are somewhat confused.
I'm even willing to say that my attempts to straighten
matters out have only confused them the more.
However, I do think it
fair to say my investigation casts doubt on Harper's
hypothesis that after many decades, no centuries, of consistently
warm winters a rogue killer freeze came along in 1835 and
destroyed the king vulture and the royal palm in Central Florida.
Watts' pollen study of Mud
Lake showed no great variation in climate‑‑as reflected by
the vegetation‑‑in the area in the past five thousand
does the historical record suggest that the climate was more mild
in central Florida in Bartram's day‑‑as a matter of fact,
Dr. Leyden presented an opinion
it was actually cooler then than now.
Finally, let us not forget that by 1835, Florida had been an
American territory for a decade and a half.
American plantations lined
the banks of the Saint Johns and steamboats plied its
waters. Among the
passengers on one of those boats was John
James Audubon‑‑yet neither he nor anyone else reported
passing the stand of the mystery
palms or seeing a painted vulture.
The larger question, of course, is why is this significant in
terms of Bartram? But
before trying to come to terms with that
question, let me first try to develop a scenario that would
explain the passages in question.
There can be no doubt Bartram wrote what he did.
would be stretched‑‑given Bartram's hard‑won
reputation as a naturalist‑‑to deny that the passages have
some sort of correlation with
reality. In other words, the man
might have had some irresponsible
qualities, but he was also a hell of a naturalist.
The easier of the two problems is the one of the bird.
We are not ornithologists.
That discipline has its own demanding
criteria and rightly so. Ornithologists
might require a specimen in hand
or confirming reports by reliable observers before
accepting a species as native in a given range.
We don't. It's
pretty obvious to me that Bartram described a species not
currently found in the state‑‑as opposed to giving a poor
description of a bird that is still here.
In fact, since I have no
scientific reputation to uphold I'll even venture to say his
painted vulture was indeed a king vulture.
What happened to the king
vulture? Birds have wings.
It is entirely possible that Bartram
shot and examined the only stray that ever arrived in
central Florida. Then too
there is the fact that king vultures in their present range in south and
central America are particularly sensitive to human encroachment.
Bartram tells us the Seminoles used their tail feathers.
As Bartram noted
elsewhere, the Seminoles "wage eternal war against the deer
and bear. . . indeed carried to an unreasonable and perhaps
criminal excess, since the white people have dazzled their senses
with foreign superfluities."
problem of the tree is much more difficult to resolve--even by the reduced
standards of lit-crit speculation. Trees
have roots. Centuries would have
had to pass before the royal palm, on its own, could have traveled from the
locations in which it grows wild today in Broward or Collier Counties to the
Lake‑Volusia boundary. But
who says the royal had to arrive in central
Florida on its own? The Native
American was probably the greatest
of all aboriginal
horticulturists. The wild orange
groves Bartram described were kept in a state of
semi‑cultivation by the Indians. Isn't it possible that they
brought seeds or young trees of royal palms from south Florida for
ceremonial or other purposes?
But if the Indians planted the trees, why was Billy the only
Bartram to note them‑‑his father, his majesty's botanist on
an official expedition, passed by
the spot without a word about any unusual
palm species. As a matter of
fact, the elder Bartram did make
a note about palm trees in the area: he
said: "We now came
to plenty of the tree palmetto, which the inhabitants call
cabbage tree" (John 39). In
sum, the palm tree he cites is the common sabal palm of Florida.
Nor did anyone else who ever traveled on the
Saint Johns see one of the mystery palms.
other hand, from the description Bartram gives it is
perfectly apparent what he described was a royal palm.
There simply isn't any
other tree growing in Florida that could be mistaken
for that description. The
passage itself is peculiar for any number of reasons.
For starters, he wastes no words‑‑something very unusual
for Bartram who could wax
ecstatic on a minnow. Yet, this
magnificent tree‑‑one that more prosaic, garden-variety botanists
have garlanded with the term “royal”‑‑Bartram could spare
no more than seven lines on. And
he is hesitant about it as well‑‑he
says they "seem to be a different species."
more peculiar is Bartram's failure to take note of this
species in his report to Fothergill
penned at the time. He
mentions it only in the book‑‑which
he published more than a decade and a half after he supposedly
made the observation. Then there is the puzzling fact that in his
report to Fothergill he refers to the “Timber in the Swamp, Elm, Ash,
Scarlet Maple, Water Oak, Red Bay, Palm Trees and underneath small Palmetos,
Elder, & variety of Shrubs and Plants, but I discovered nothing new” (Travels
Fothergill 152). Two paragraphs
later, when still discussing the general area where the royal palms are sited
in Travels, he speaks of “Live Oak, Laurel & the proud waving
Palm Tree.” "Palm"
singular when mentioning tree
species in a new locality (Travels Fothergill ).
Why wouldn't he speak of
palms, if two species grew in the area? Indeed,
why wouldn’t he make special mention of them altogether instead of saying,
“I discovered nothing new”?
is important to understand that Bartram thought of his
book as a literary endeavor as well as a scientific one, much as
Zora Hurston seemed to regard Mules and Men, an anthropological
text with literary overtones. He
had no scruples about reordering events to squeeze more drama into the text.
For instance, the famous incident of the bear in the orange trees
that's described in the alligator section near what appears to be presently
called Stagger Mud Lake, actually occurred on Crescent Lake.
Also, he had a companion with him during the famous alligator battles,
but in the book it appears as though Billy
faced the gators alone. He
left the matter of the November freeze
out of the book, probably because it would spoil the paradisiacal element he
had gone to great lengths to develop. All
this isn't to say that he didn't take his job as a naturalist
seriously. He did.
It's just that he didn't always apply the same rigid standard many
modern scientists do. Once Harper
even found Bartram to have
"placed in the Mississippi a mollusk that
is known only from the Altamaha in Georgia" (Travels
think the sort of carelessness noted in the example of the Mississippi mollusk
is quite likely how the royal palms came to be located on the Saint Johns.
Bartram's hesitance and diffidence in
discussing what most‑‑including himself‑‑would
consider a major discovery
reinforce me in that belief. The
main hurdle to accepting that solution is the equally thorny matter of
explaining how Bartram could have witnessed such a stand of trees anywhere.
But did he necessarily have to witness the trees?
Bartram was a Romantic and highly impressionable.
Isn't it possible one or more of the Indians may have told him about
this strange palm tree growing elsewhere in the state.
It's even possible he heard that story in the
1760s‑‑twenty‑five years before Travels was
published. A description of a
second species would have made a strong impression on a
botanist‑‑and perhaps (under those circumstances) a rather weak
impression in his book. Then the
matter of more than a decade between the end of his travels and the writing of
the book may well have produced the shift from being told to his belief that
he observed it himself.
That decade, of course, was a wild one.
The Revolutionary War was
fought and then afterward there was the national
ferment and foment of casting about for a means of
governing the former colonies. Bartram
lived in the Philadelphia area.
Many distractions would have taken his mind off his southern
journey‑‑even if he was a Quaker and prone not to let his head be
turned by such things.
too, there is the possibility that he actually did see
royal palm trees‑‑growing not in central Florida but in
Evidently William worked for De Brahm, Florida's first
geographer during his 1766‑67 sojourn in the territory.
The map which presumably
appeared in the original Travels‑‑Van Doren includes
it in the much republished 1928 edition--bears the notation
"Wrecked here" in the
lower coastal portion of the map. It's
obvious he was aboard that
ship‑‑presumably de Brahm was too‑‑but no one has yet
turned up an account of that expedition.
Was it coming up the coast from the south, as the position of the
vessel seems to indicate?
Oddly, Bartram never said much about his activities in
Florida in the 1760s.
any case, given the usual criteria we use to make critical judgments,
Bartram's report of the royal
palm near present day Astor is highly suspect.
The larger question is what difference does it make?
To scientists, the answer would appear to be a lot.
Suddenly, Bartram would become a suspect source.
His entire canon would have to be rethought, or at least that is the
impression I have received from the extreme resistance many scientific Bartram
aficionados (none of whom was cited in this essay) have shown.
Many of them, are absolutely adamant, that a grove of royal palm trees
was once located on the shores of Lake Dexter, never minding the lack of
supporting data. Literary folk,
on the other hand, have much less to lose.
We already knew Bartram was a Romantic, and by planting a mystery palm
grove in the pages of his Xanadu, he only reinforces our previous impression
of him, and perhaps makes him a bit more endearing.
* Some slight internal
counter-evidence exists supporting the possibility of subtropical vegetation
in Central Florida in the Bartrams’ times.
For instance, after citing the 26 degree freeze, John adds “many
curious evergreens up the river, that were near twenty years old, and in a
flourishing state” were destroyed.
** I must thank the following “hard” scientists for their interest
and advice, many of whom have been intrigued by these Bartram puzzles
themselves: Jack Myers formerly
of University College of Belize, Paul and Hazel Delcourt of the University of
Tennessee, Mark Brenner and Tom Webber of the University of Florida.
John. “John Bartram’s
Diary.” Annotated by Francis
Harper. Transactions of the American Philosophical Society.
New Series--Vol. XXXIII, Part I (December 1942), 1-122.
William. “Travels in Georgia
and Florida, 1773-74: A Report to Dr. John Fothergill.”
Annotated by Francis Harper. Transactions
of the American Philosophical Society, New Series--XXXIII, Part II (November,
Travels of William Bartram.
Edited by Mark Van Doren. Reprint of 1791 edition. New York: Dover
Publications, Inc., 1928.
Travels of William Bartram, Naturalist’s Edition.
Ed. by Francis Harper. New
Haven: Yale University Press, 1958.
N. Bryllion. William Bartram:
Interpreter of the American Landscape.
Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins Press, 1933.
Barbara W. Personal letter, dated
December 3, 1992.
John Livingston. The Road to
Xanadu: A Study in the Ways of the Imagination.
Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1927.
Watts, W. A. “A Pollen Diagram from Mud Lake, Marion County, North-Central Florida.” Geological Society of America Bulletin, Vol. 80, 1969, 631-642.
(c) Copyright 2001-2006 by Steve Glassman. All rights reserved.