Webber's Lost Book
Charles Webber (1845-1923), my great-great-great-grandfather, was always a bit of a family enigma. The glorious parts of his life, I have already described in my previous research trip summaries: how he served as a musician in the Civil War from age 16 to 19 (see New Bern trip); how he wrote plays, became a journalist, and ran the Salem Post (see Salem trip); how in 1870 he married Mary Endicott, the daughter of a wealthy sea captain; and how later in his life he took to writing poetry, philosophical essays, and literature inspired by New Thought. However, Charles was also a controversial figure: he divorced his wife in 1880 and left their three children behind as he set out on his own. From newspaper articles, I know that by 1887, he had joined a theatre troupe called the Universal Amusement League, which performed in various locations around the country, and that by 1899, his address in Boston was 12 Windsor Street. He died in Revere, MA in 1923. Little traces of the later parts of his life are found in his various writings. However, the period immediately after his divorce (1881-1886) was completely unaccounted for. That is...until I discovered a book that he had written in 1883, unbeknownst to anyone in my family. That book took me to Gainesville, Florida.
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There was no doubt that the author of Eden of the South was our Charles "Carl" Webber, since the book also gives the titles of his other works. As I studied the book, I noticed that Charles wrote it using a similar journalistic structure as Old Naumkeag (1877), complete with illustrations. But for this second book, instead of writing about his home town, he chose Alachua Country, Florida (which contains Gainesville). Why did he do this? I wondered. What was so special and "Edenic" about this part of the country that inspired him to come here and write a book about it? And were his reasons for writing related to what was going on during this mysterious period of his life? These were my guiding questions in March of 2020 as I undertook my third research trip.
Gainesville in the 1880's
I made a home base for the week in Gainesville with my relatives, Christina and Tom, who are not directly related to Charles Webber (Christina's aunt Catharine married Charles's grandson Carl E. E. Webber; Carl and Catharine were my great-grandparents) but were highly curious and supportive in my exploration. Gainesville is full of interesting historic places, such as the East Florida Seminary School, the United Methodist Church, the Thomas Center, and plenty of buildings that date from the 1800's.
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As I walked the streets, I imagined what everything would have looked and felt like in 1883 when Charles wrote the book. I imagined that the largest oak trees I saw were once young saplings in the old country. I imagined that the streets now paved were once covered with dust and lined with tracks of horses and carriages. One of Webber's most vivid snapshots of 1880's life in Gainesville was of the courthouse square during the Saturday market:
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"Around this square are clustered the business places of the merchant kings of Alachua, from the doors of either one of which may be seen at a glance the proceedings in the entire square, excepting such portion as may be hidden by the great central object, the court-house. This is the great trading mart of the county, and upon each Saturday this square is filled with the people from the surrounding country who come here to sell their products and to lay in their supplies for the following week. To strangers from the North this is a new and curious sight. Home-made vehicles of every description propelled by mules: lone cows harnessed with ropes into rudely-constructed shafts of primitive-looking go-carts, and driven, maybe, by a buxom-looking country girl in holiday attire and the ornamental accompaniments, designed, no doubt, to enrapture the heart of some susceptible one of the opposite sex. Oxen, loaded with heavy yokes, behind which, in a heavily-wheeled oak cart, among boxes, barrels, bags, and numerous unmentionable articles, may be seen protruding the head and shoulders of a grim-visaged mammy or grand-mammy and a half-dozen pickaninnies of every age, size and complexion. Long, vegetable teams, drawn by four or six mules, upon one of which is seated a native Floridian, flourishing his long-lashed, short-handled whip in his peculiarly dexterous manner. Long-legged, aged countrymen in white pants, frock-coat aud tall hat, astride of some cadaverous-looking donkey, loaded additionally with baskets and bags well filled with rich products hanging each side of the saddle, the whole looking, at first sight, as if the man was endeavoring to steady the donkey and his burden with his feet, which nearly touched the ground. Then women and children of every age, size and complexion, from the blackest black to the whitest white, from miles around, enjoying this their weekly gala day, talking politics and religion on the corners or in groups in the streets, lounging around upon the curb-stones, and dining at the improvised Saturday eating-places, here and there located upon the top of some dry-goods box, and attended by the proprietors arrayed in snow-white aprons," (pp. 36-37).
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This square, however, does not exist anymore. The county courthouse, which Charles had described as a gloomy-looking wooden building, was replaced by a brick building in 1886 (three years after Eden of the South was published), and then again in 1958 by the current structure as shown below on the right. The sketch below on the left was found in Charles's Civil War sketchbook, however the note on it indicates it was not drawn at that time.
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Other Towns in Alachua County
From Gainesville, I traversed the towns of Waldo, Micanopy, Hawthorne, Archer, and Earlton, all of which Charles Webber describes in Eden of the South except for Earlton (which was called Rosetta prior to 1887). The post offices were particularly interesting, though it was unclear whether they were still in their original 1880's locations. The postal clerk in Waldo mentioned she had actually read parts of Webber's book!
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Waldo was the most fascinating of these towns. It's 1883 population was about 500, and presently there is barely twice that amount. Waldo was once the key intersection of two prominent railroads (the Florida Railroad and the Peninsular Railroad), and there is a museum explaining its history. Unfortunately, the museum operates by appointment only, so I could not enter during my 2 hours in Waldo. Sadly, many of the houses in Waldo are abandoned. One house shown below on the bottom left boasts of its 1875 construction date. The church below is an original church mentioned by Webber. There is also an entire row of businesses shown on the bottom right that are abandoned, possibly from the original town's business street.
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Micanopy was also intriguing. Presently its largest industry is antiques (there were about 12 antique stores on the town's main drag). However, it was once a railway outpost where people would pick up their goods shipped through the Thrasher warehouse. In his chapter on Micanopy, Webber described the residence of Dr. Lucius Montgomery, calling it “doubtless the finest in town. It is two stories high, with a two-story cupola, and is built in the finest style of architecture, with every convenience for pleasure and comfort. The house is surrounded with orange groves,” (p. 58). Today, all that remains of the estate is the brick wall and gate that once surrounded it (shown in the top right photo below).
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At the Micanopy museum, I found a 1996 book by Caroline Barr Watkins called The Story of Historic Micanopy. I looked up Webber's name in the index and found a reference to his book and how it reached people in the north:
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“Interest in Florida became widespread in the North, and books and magazines such as Harper's and Scribner's carried articles about Florida. Promotion booklets were circulated. Midland Florida, by Charles Henry (Carl) Webber, described the orange groves, vegetable farms, strawberry fields, peach orchards, soil, climate, natural peculiarities, and the people of Alachua County. Despite its flamboyant language, the article on Micanopy is surprisingly correct,” (Barr, p. 47).
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Natural Areas
In Eden of the South, Charles Webber describes the settlements and natural areas of Alachua County with breathtaking imagery:
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“In the creation of Alachua county, Nature seems to have done her very best in the admixture of pine and hummock lands, mottled and streaked with lakes and ponds and streams, under a tropical sun, the heat of which is tempered with constantly flowing sea-breezes, to produce a spot where man might live and enjoy the bounties of the earth with perfect safety to health, life and happiness, and with commensurate remuneration for the toil of his hands and brain. Eden was the creation of Nature’s wisdom, not of man’s inventive genius, and if Alachua county, Midland Florida, is not a veritable Eden, then there is no such place this side of the Great Hereafter,” (p. 31).
“These lands consist of most beautiful hummocks, hilly and fertile, flourishing in the cultivated portions with waving corn, bordered with grassy hillsides and plains, looking altogether more like a genuine New England scene than any other of which the state can boast. With such scenery, and the balmy influences of a Florida summer, what more could the heart of a man wish,” (p. 68). "We doubt, if on the entire face of the earth another such place can be found, where in summer and in winter, among such forests, and by such shady brooks, and on such silvery lakes, can be experienced delights which so charm the soul to contentment and ease, and harmonize one's thoughts with Nature's balmy influences," (p. 6). |
One place Charles pays particular attention to is the Alachua Sink. He explains that the name Alachua comes from a native American word for "big jug," referring to this enormous sink hole in the ground surrounded by a vast prairie wetland. But during the 1870's and 1880's, there was an abundance of water and the entire prairie flooded. During that time, the body of water was known as Alachua Lake. In 1892, the lake dried up completely and has been known since as Paine's Prairie.
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The most thrilling hike I did on this trip was through the Newnan State Forest from the highway to Newnan Lake. There was fresh air and thousands of beautiful oaks and pines!
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The most thought-provoking walk I took was on an old dirt road that went out about a mile alongside a steamboat canal. The road and the canal ran from the town of Waldo to Lake Alto, a distance of just under a mile. Canals like these were dug in the 1880's as a way of connecting steamboat routes to the train routes, at which Waldo was thought to be the center. As I walked this road, I experienced an overwhelming sensation that my ancestor had once walked this same path. I felt and imagined him strolling along, observing this critical intersection of nature and industry with his journalistic eyes and ears, and preparing to write about it just as I was doing.
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“A steamboat canal has been built from [Santa Fe Lake] to the enterprising town of Waldo, passing through the beautiful Lake Alto and forming transportation connection with the Transit Railroad,” (Webber, p. 22).
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The Question of Health
It is curious how often in Eden of the South Charles characterized Alachua county as a healthy place to live. Webber uses the word “health” or “healthy” 48 times in the text; “sanitary” or “sanitorium” 4 times; “hygiene” or “hygienic” 7 times; and “disease” or “sickness” 20 times. He describes Gainesville as “especially recommended by physicians as the most healthful city in Florida,” (p. 34), and states that the climate is “particularly beneficial to all pulmonary complains; and to those of a nervous temperament,” (p. 48). He describes the region's natural mineral springs as "beneficial for people suffering with rheumatism" and "found to possess a curative property in diseases of the kidneys" (p. 16) and other conditions such as asthma (p. 73), bronchitis (p. 72), and diabetes (p. 64).
I thought about the question of health quite a lot during this investigation. This trip in early March of 2020 coincided with the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic. As my home state of Washington suffered the majority of the early outbreaks, I wondered if the "healthfulness" of Florida's climate might shield locals from the coronavirus; after all, Charles noted: “No epidemic diseases have ever been known here, all the climactic conditions being favorable to health and longevity,” (p. 61). Unfortunately, Florida's first case of COVID-19 was brought to light during the course of my trip.
But this made me wonder if Charles Webber was suffering from some kind of health concern of his own which made him come to Florida in the first place. He had suffered unusually devastating sicknesses before (notably at age 19 after he returned from war service); he would have fit his own description as a person of "nervous temperament"; and one could reasonably assume he was experiencing guilt and stress due to having left behind his family in Salem. Ultimately, however, he never wrote of anything specific to his own health during this time period, so I can only speculate.
But this made me wonder if Charles Webber was suffering from some kind of health concern of his own which made him come to Florida in the first place. He had suffered unusually devastating sicknesses before (notably at age 19 after he returned from war service); he would have fit his own description as a person of "nervous temperament"; and one could reasonably assume he was experiencing guilt and stress due to having left behind his family in Salem. Ultimately, however, he never wrote of anything specific to his own health during this time period, so I can only speculate.
Literary Clues
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The most striking literary feature of Eden of the South is its compelling language. Certainly, Charles Webber was paid (perhaps commissioned) to write the book. This fact must be kept in mind, since it may explain why his descriptions of the various locations and their advantages may come across as overly flattering and enthusiastic. This salesman-like tone struck me instantly when he referred to a tiny stream running through Gainesville called Sweetwater Branch as "an excellent branch of water" (shown in the photo on the right).
From the style and tone of the text, we can infer that Webber's main purpose in writing was to convince people to move to Alachua county, rather than to give a purely objective description of the area. He gives lengthy endorsements for what he calls "orange fever": the rush of people moving to Florida to buy land and plant orange groves for economic and lifestyle gains. He supports these endorsements with quantitative facts and detailed accounts of individuals who have moved there and how they became successful; details include the acreage of their groves, amount of money they made, and other peculiarities such as farming techniques. Here are some examples:
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"Dr. M. A. Cushing...came to Waldo in 1879, with very small means. He bought 40 acres of swamp land, and when he commenced to clear it and build upon it, it was remarked that the old gentleman was going out there to starve. On the contrary, however, he made a good living on it from the first, and has now a piece of dry and valuable property...He now has a grove of orange, peach, pear, plum, persimmon, lemon and date trees, besides quantities of various varieties of grapes, tea-plants, etc. He plants his trees on a ridge, and plants corn on a ridge between the rows and fertilizes by putting the cornstalks into the ditches between, and covering them with dirt. The first year he fertilized with cotton seed. His first trees were set out in 1880 (35). He has now 119 in all. On three fifths of an acre of peach trees, he got 60 bushels: 5 bushels of these in the spring of 1883, brought $9 a bushel; the remainder bout $5 a bushel," (p. 54).
“Mr. L. K. Rawlins, another young, rising and progressive man, in addition to his real-estate business in connection with P. F. Wilson, at Gainesville, is an extensive vegetable grower. He plants eighty acres near the lake and has started a 10-acre orange grove and a nursery, and is constantly adding to his possessions. Mr. Rawlins came to Gainesville in 1880 to escape death from rapid consumption. He is now apparently well,” (p. 44). |
Webber goes even further as to predict tremendous economic success for Alachua county:
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“The importance of market gardening to the state of Florida is almost incalculable. It was first settled but a few years ago as an experiment, but is fast becoming a leading industry. Orange groves may be planted on the same land with vegetables, thus securing for the man of small means a future period of independence and enjoyment while present needs are being provided for...A perfect network of railroads is covering the state, and steamboats are ploughing new waters, seeking freight and traffic from every locality. Reasonable freights, refrigerators, well-ventilated cars and compartments furnished by railroads and steamboat companies, will soon place Florida in advance of Bermuda, the West Indies, and the Bahama Islands in supplying our great country with early vegetables,” (p. 26).
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Other projections were that Gainesville “must ere long be made the capital of the state” (p. 32); that Newnan’s Lake was “destined in a few years to be a most popular water resort,” (p. 23); that the use of Spanish moss as a substitute for hair in upholstering was “becoming quite an industry” (p. 45); and that the biggest new development sure to hit the region was a new planned settlement called New Gainesville, consisting of “cottages and parks forming a bird’s-eye figure like the centre and two sides of a Maltese cross,” (p. 45). None of these things came to pass. It is no wonder that one writer, Lars Anderson, in his book Paynes Prairie (second edition, 2014), characterized Charles Webber’s flattering descriptions of Alachua county in this way:
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“Such praise, mixed with a liberal dose of Southern pride, helped make Webber something of a local hero. Unfortunately, he was more gifted at delivering flamboyant accolades than at predicting the future,” (Larsen, p. 125).
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Searching for Webber
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My research so far was partially successful. I had come to understand why Charles Webber wrote Eden of the South and what his experience as a journalist was like. But some questions still burned inside me. How much time did Charles Webber spend in Alachua county, and where did he live while he was here? It still seemed like a mystery. To answer these questions, I turned to my usual research methods. I visited the libraries and searched through their special collections, maps, and newspapers on microfiche.
The maps were no use; the earliest one I found was dated 1970. The public library's city directories only went back to 1956. The newspapers from 1882-1884 failed to contain a reference to Eden of the South (perhaps because the Gainesville Weekly Bee considered Webber a rival journalist and didn't want to advertise the book in their paper). I consulted the University of Gainesville libraries, as well as the Matheson History Museum archive, but their records only went back to the early 1900's. The only thing I managed to find was a Florida business directory printed in 1883 that listed Charles Webber as a journalist, giving his location as Gainesville but without a specific address.
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However, there was one glimmering ray of hope. A helpful museum guide turned me to the Ellerbe Library, an archive extension of the Matheson History Museum. There, I was able to find an original, first-edition copy of Eden of the South. Its cover and binding were in bad shape, but the book was largely in tact.
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Curiously, there were handwritten notes inside the book. Below several of the illustrations, someone had written the present locations of where that site used to be (ie. "on the corner of University Avenue and Pleasant Street"). Elsewhere, they had pencilled in spelling corrections; for example, on page 90 the name Robinson was corrected to Robertson.
As I sat in the Ellerbe library excitedly perusing the first edition copy, two other researchers entered and laid out a box of writings at the same table I was at. I introduced myself and asked what they were researching. It turned out they were descendants of Helen Ellerbe (the library's namesake), and they were working investigating a memoir written Mrs. Ellerbe's mother, Mary Etta Hancock Cubberly (1870-1950), who had come to Alachua county from northern Michigan in 1885. When I showed them Charles Webber's book, they were intrigued. They explained that Mrs. Cubberly had come to Florida--to the town of Archer, specifically--because her family had read brochures advertising Alachua county. Was it possible, I asked, that Eden of the South was one of the texts she had read?
The researchers were gracious to let me look at Mary Etta Cubberly's memoir (written in 1942). They turned my attention to this striking passage on the left below:
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I turned to Webber's book and found a passage in the chapter on Archer that described the same man:
“Mr. James Skinner...has a carriage manufactory and blacksmith’s forge...Mr. Skinner came to Archer about six years ago, with only $100. He started a business which he expected would employ himself only about half his time. Today he keeps from three to five hands constantly employed, and has hard work to keep up with his orders,” (p. 76). Indeed, there was a very real possibility that Eden of the South was among Mrs. Cubberly's "literature from the land of sunshine." Given that Charles Webber was a journalist, it is likely that Webber and Skinner had met for an interview. |
As I left the Ellerbe library, I kept in contact with the librarian. I had asked her to look up where the first edition of Eden of the South came from. If I could trace that copy, I thought, I might be able to find out whose handwriting was inside it. Maybe that would give me another lead. Later that day, the librarian responded:
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"It looks like the copy of Eden of the South you were looking at came to us as one of our very earliest donations. It is from Helen Ellerbe, who the library is named for and who is the relative of the other researchers who were in this afternoon. She donated a large number of books before the museum opened to kickstart the library," (March 6, 2020).
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I was ecstatic. Mrs. Ellerbe (1906-1995) had given the book to the library in 1993, one year prior to the museum's opening in 1994. As I received this message, I felt the laurels of successful research descending upon me. Since Mrs. Ellerbe had owned that copy of Eden of the South, it was therefore possible that her mother, Mary Etta Cubberly, had read it. And from that realm of possibility, at the very least, a story could be fashioned.
Conclusion to the Charles Webber Research Saga
Thus, the journalist concluded his three-part investigation spanning Salem, New Bern, and Gainesville, and made his most recent findings available to the family press:
Charles H. Webber came to Alachua county, Florida, in the 1880's with the full of the spirit of industry, to find a healthy place to prosper after separating from his family. He became a journalist, befriended townsfolk all across the land, and became a "local hero." Then he wrote a book that reached a family half-way across the country and influenced them to pick up and move to Florida to pursue the same fruits of life he had experienced and written about.
This was as satisfying as any answer I could have hoped for. Although I had not found the exact location of my ancestor's whereabouts, the story itself seemed somehow was more important than the details. All in all, Charles Webber remains a family legend. True, one could spend infinitely more time unearthing the past to learn a fraction more about a beloved family member, but from a certain perspective, all we gain from exhaustive research amounts to dirt and fossils. What gives the past life is the story we breathe into it. Each one of us, perhaps, eventually becomes a legend.
Charles H. Webber came to Alachua county, Florida, in the 1880's with the full of the spirit of industry, to find a healthy place to prosper after separating from his family. He became a journalist, befriended townsfolk all across the land, and became a "local hero." Then he wrote a book that reached a family half-way across the country and influenced them to pick up and move to Florida to pursue the same fruits of life he had experienced and written about.
This was as satisfying as any answer I could have hoped for. Although I had not found the exact location of my ancestor's whereabouts, the story itself seemed somehow was more important than the details. All in all, Charles Webber remains a family legend. True, one could spend infinitely more time unearthing the past to learn a fraction more about a beloved family member, but from a certain perspective, all we gain from exhaustive research amounts to dirt and fossils. What gives the past life is the story we breathe into it. Each one of us, perhaps, eventually becomes a legend.
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As I reflected on this conclusion, I thought of the final passage of Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman. As I interpret it, the message is that we belong to world of nature that transcends our particular identities and ancestries. When we die, our bodies, minds, and spirits are all recycled into nature. To connect with the ancient ones, I presume, we must cease to look for the specific traces they left upon the earth, and instead look to the wholeness and the commonness of the earth itself.
A person's traces vanish all too quickly. Our buildings rot, our footprints get covered, and our papers decay with time. But if we are looking to feel the spirit of our earthly, familial origins, we need not look farther than the soil beneath our own shoes. This is the same soil our ancestors walked upon, the same as we were all born from (figuratively), and the same as to which we will all return. |
Charles Webber with his dog Brownie, probably in the early 20th century.
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"I depart as air...I shake my white locks at the runaway sun, I effuse my flesh in eddies and drift it in lacy jags. I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love. If you want me again, look for me under your bootsoles...Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged, missing me one place search another, I stop somewhere waiting for you."
-Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass (1855) 
Historic sand on the sole of my shoe, Hogtown Creek, Gainesville
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