Heaven and Hell, Part One
Song by Will McLean from the album Broadside Ballads, Volume 6: Broadside Reunion
Local legends are often colorful, shocking, and sometimes completely ludicrous. Recently, during my honeymoon stay on Florida’s forgotten coast I have stumbled upon an interesting collection of State Parks and Nature Preserves steeped in folklore and legend. Heaven and hell, not only exist, they do so within miles of one another.
Presenting the interesting case of Cebe Tate’s Hell:
The popular image of hell is that of a fiery furnace of torture and suffering where the damned spend an eternity in atonement. Depending on various beliefs and mythologies, it is populated by demons and devils, ferrymen and gods. Since childhood one of my favorite Greek myths involves the three-headed, devil-dog, Cerberus, of Hades’ underworld, a guardian tasked with keeping the dead from ever escaping back through the river Styx. It is also the namesake of Cebe Tate.
The network of tributaries to the Apalachicola Bay between the Apalachicola and Ochlockonee Rivers form a vast swamp, an ecological wonder with vast and diverse wildlife including several endangered species. This swamp is christened with the colorful, albeit frightening, moniker Tate’s Hell. Legend has it that in 1865 a cattle farmer ventured into the swamp near his farm and resurfaced ten days later and twenty-five miles from home. He had been drinking the swamp water to curb his thirst and was losing his mind from the complications of a water moccasin bite. He stumbled his way into the town of Carrabelle and collapsed at the feet of two strangers. He said, “The name’s Tate and I been through hell.” He also reportedly repeatedly mumbled warnings of a demon cat in the swamp before his death moments later.
Why would a man walk twenty-five miles through a swamp? The answer is simple, revenge. I have seen many versions of the Cebe Tate story since I became interested in this oddly-named State Forrest, but the must detailed and exciting account comes from the local magazine, Must See. Author, Daniel Anderson, reveals that Cerberus Tate was nearly killed by cats while sleeping in his crib as an infant. At the age of six his eyes were nearly scratched from his face by a kitten he had “taken a shine to.” Over the years Cerberus developed a hatred of cats he learned to associate with his name. His hatred became his demise.
As an adult Cebe Tate took over the family cattle farm and all headaches associated. One summer the livestock starting going missing one by one. Cerberus begin posting watch at night and caught sight of a panther dragging a calf into the swamp. He took it personally. Against his better judgement he released the dogs and ventured off into the swamp with only a shotgun and the clothes on his back.
That is when it all went to hell. Within hours they came upon the calf’s half-eaten carcass. The dogs got the scent and tore off through the swamp. Cebe struggled to keep up. Before he knew it he was deep in the swamp, the twisting waterways turning into a labyrinth before his eyes. By nightfall the dogs had cornered the panther, but this cat would not go quietly. It struck Cebe’s best dog. The other dogs scattered. Cerberus raised his shotgun and fired but at too great a distance. The panther escaped into the brush leaving Cerberus to tend to his fallen companion. That night he dug a shallow grave at his makeshift campsite. He vowed to “see the swamp devil dead.”
The next day Cerberus stopped to rest under a tree. A poisonous water moccasin had the same idea. Cebe sucked out as much of the venom as he could, but he needed help. He had to get out of that swamp. Not being a fool, Cebe knew if he just followed the sun he would make it out of that forsaken swamp. However, the cards were stacked against old Cerberus. A fog crept in. It would not lift. He wandered the swamp for days, eaten alive by the mosquitoes and biting flies. The snake venom pulsed through his veins. Thirsty and desperate, he took to drinking the brackish water of wetland.
The panther calling in the dark plagued his sleep. The fog, his days. Cerberus Tate was in hell. Ten days he wandered the swamp. The tenacity of his hatred for the “swamp devil” was the only thing that drove him onward. He made it out. The little town of Carrabelle where his uncle ran the post came into view on the horizon like the light at the end of a tunnel. Cerberus uttered his famous line and became immortal.
202,437 acres of land now bare his name. I wonder what became of that panther?
