Far in ether stars above thee
Ever beam with purest light,
Birds of richest music love thee,
Flowers than Eden's hues more bright,
And love--young love, so fresh and fair--
Fills with his breath thy gentle air.
Many writers who come to Florida copy an abstract of the most
interesting portions contained in the guide-books, besides what they can
hear, afterward filling up the interstices from their imaginations. We
look to the old Spaniards for information, but, alas! they are like the
swamp cypress which the gray moss has gathered over until its vitality
has been absorbed--age has taken away their vigor.
This point appears to be a favored place for the stimulus of thought,
where inspiration can be gathered from atmospheric influences, and not
the heat of youth or the vapor of strong drink. Daily we are more
impressed with the fact how treacherous are the links which connect the
chain of tradition in a country where its earliest history is mingled
with a record wonderful as the champions of knight-errantry who figured
in the pages of romance.
The early settlers were lured here by legends of a fairy realm, where
youth and beauty held perpetual sway, and mountains of gold reared
their shining peaks. (See Frontispiece.)
From the 28th of August, 1565, when Pedro Melendez planted the broad
banner of Spain with its castellated towers in the lonely settlement of
Seloe, beside the waters which our Huguenots had previously dignified
with the title, "River of Dolphins," to the present time, imagination
has been on the alert to penetrate the past history of this country. On
the site of the present plaza was celebrated the first mass in America
by Mendoza, the priest, assisted by his acolytes.
The minds of the Seloes were much exercised with the appearance of their
new visitors, the impression being received that they were immortal,
with their steel-covered bodies and bonnets, which flashed like meteors
in the sunlight, while music, more enchanting than any which had ever
filled their most fanciful imaginations, floated on the silent air.
During the early history of St. Augustine it appeared to be disputed
ground for all explorers--French, Spanish, and English. Sir Francis
Drake in 1586 drove the Spaniards from here during the war with Spain,
the Spanish retiring so hastily they left fourteen brass cannon, besides
a mahogany chest containing two thousand pounds in the castle. During
1665, Davis, the buccaneer, captured the town again. In 1762 a writer
describes it as being at the foot of a hill, shaded with trees, the town
laid out in the form of an oblong square, the streets cutting each other
at right angles.
In 1764 the Spanish left the town, and the English took possession, when
we find this graphic account, from which observant visitors can note the
changes:
"All the houses are built of masonry, their entrances being shaded by
piazzas, supported by Tuscan pillars, or pilasters, against the south
sun. The houses have to the east windows projecting sixteen or eighteen
inches into the street, very wide and proportionally high. On the west
side their windows are commonly very small, and no opening of any kind
to the north, on which side they have double walls six or eight feet
asunder, forming a kind of gallery, which answers for cellars and
pantries. Before most of the entrances were arbors of vines, producing
plenty and very good grapes. No house has any chimney for a fire-place;
the Spaniards made use of stone urns, filled them with coals, left them
in the kitchens in the afternoon, and set them at sunset in their
bedrooms, to defend themselves against those winter seasons which
required such care. The governor's residence has both sides piazzas, a
double one to the south, and a single one to the north; also a Belvidere
and a grand portico decorated with Doric pillars and entablatures.
"The roofs are commonly flat. The number of houses in the town are about
nine hundred. The streets are narrow on account of shade. In a few
places they are wide enough to permit two carriages to pass abreast.
They were not originally intended for carriages, many of them being
floored with artificial stone, composed of shells and mortar, which in
this climate takes and keeps the hardness of rock, no other vehicle than
a hand-barrow being allowed to pass over them. In some places you see
remnants of this ancient pavement, but for the most part it has been
ground into dust under the wheels of the carts and carriages introduced
by the new inhabitants. The old houses are built of a kind of stone
which is seemingly a pure concretion of small shells, which overhang the
streets with their wooden balconies; and the gardens between the houses
are fenced on the side of the street with high walls of stone. Peeping
over these walls you see branches of the pomegranate and of the
orange-tree now fragrant with flowers, and rising yet higher the leaning
boughs of the fig with its broad, luxuriant leaves. Occasionally you
pass the ruins of houses--walls of stone, with arches and stair-cases of
the same material, which once belonged to stately dwellings. You meet in
the streets with men of swarthy complexions and foreign physiognomy, and
you hear them speaking to each other in a strange language. These are
the remains of the Spanish dominion inhabitants, speaking the language
of their country."
In 1757 no vessel could approach the coast of St. Augustine without
running the risk of being taken by the French privateers. It has not
always been the home of Spanish Dons and guitar-playing, as in 1777.
Captain Rory McIntosh, the Don Quixote of the country, lived here, and
paraded the streets in true Scottish style, dressed in the Highland
costume. His home was with Mr. Archibald Lundy, then a merchant of St.
Augustine. He was present at the taking of Fort Moosa, under command of
General Oglethorpe, and mentions his share in the fight with
characteristic bravado: "I am a scoundrel, sir! At Fort Moosa a captain
of Spanish Grenadiers was charging at the head of his company, and, like
a varmint, sir, I lay in the bushes and shot the gallant fellow."
On June 17, 1821, the American flag first floated from Castle San Marco.
A meeting was afterward held in the governor's palace, where the
exercising of a right was declared which had banished the Huguenots from
the soil centuries before: "Freedom to worship God according to the
dictates of one's own conscience."
The archives of St. Augustine were said to have been delivered to the
United States Collector. They were sealed in eleven strong boxes, for
the purpose of being sent to Cuba, but detained by Captain Hanhan, and
afterward forwarded to Washington.
Dr. McWhir, an Irish Presbyterian preacher, visited Florida in 1823 and
1824, preaching at St. Augustine and Mandarin. He organized the first
Presbyterian Church in the State, located at Mandarin. It was also
mainly through his influence that the Church in St. Augustine was
founded.
In 1834 St. Augustine answered to the following description: "Situated
like a rustic village, with its white houses peeping from among the
clustered boughs and golden fruit of the favorite tree, beneath whose
shade the invalid cooled his fevered brow and imbibed health from the
fragrant air." It was, indeed, a forest of sturdy orange-trees, whose
rich foliage of deep green, variegated with golden fruit, in which the
buildings of the city were embowered, and whose fragrance filled the
body of the surrounding atmosphere so as to attract the attention of
those passing by in ships at sea, and whose delicious fruit was the
great staple of export. The plaza then contained many orange-trees, one
of which was over a century old, producing, in a single season, twelve
thousand oranges--more than eight thousand being nothing unusual for
many of the trees in a year.
However, in 1835 there came a change over the dreams of these
independent, happy people, when their source of income was gone in a
single night--a calamity caused by a cold, heartless invader from the
North, King Frost, which made them a brief visit, and froze the trees to
the ground. From an income of more than seventy thousand dollars per
annum, the amount was decreased to nothing. Their trees, being well
matured, had produced an average of five hundred oranges annually.
We feel as though, in trying to describe this place, we were hovering on
the brink of uncertainty, and drifting along its shores, not knowing
where to land, that we might find the stand-point to commence our task.
It is here we realize a kind of traditional flickering between the
forgotten and neglected past, shrouded in awful obscurity, with an
intervening veil of myth and mystery--a pilgrim shrine for those wanting
relics to visit, where many times large drafts are drawn upon the bank
of their credulity, which look genuine if not honored with credence, or
added to the store-house of useful information. Here we see more objects
tottering upon the verge of existence and nonentity than at any other
point in the State. The most venerable houses are built of tabby and
coquina. Tabby, or concrete, is composed of two parts lime and coquina
six parts, thoroughly mixed, and then placed in position between two
planks, held together by iron bolts until dry. Walls of this kind were
used as a means for defense in the days of Hannibal and Scipio, they
being sufficiently strong to withstand the ancient battering weapons
used in warfare.
Before the forest-trees which covered the grounds upon which New York
City now stands were felled, St. Augustine was the seat of power. The
streams of wealth, and vast fortunes to be made as if by magic, had
induced the adventurer to leave his home, and the pampered sons of power
to pass the dangers of the deep. It is here, as in no other place, that
two forms of civilization find a foothold--the Spanish dwellings of over
a century, with the modern Mansard-roofs of recent date, all subserving
the purpose of substantial residences. Many of the early settlers came
like wandering sea-birds, wearied with their night, and looking for
rest.
This city is like ancient Rome, with which many found fault while there,
but, from some kind of fascination, they always returned again. The
inhabitants residing in other portions of the State formerly resorted
to St. Augustine during the months of July, August, and September, that
they might avoid malaria from the marshes. The fresh sea-breeze which
comes out every morning they called "The Doctor," whose presence was
hailed on account of its healthful influences. Its fine climate and
orange-groves have always rendered it celebrated, although it has no
fertile back country.
The powerful chemical ingredients, which exist in the atmosphere on the
sea-coast, act as a neutralizer to disease. The chloride of sodium,
compounded in the laboratory of the great saline aquarium and respired
without effort, is freighted with the germs of health, which are
productive of beneficial effect in many forms of pulmonic complaints.
During the Spanish rule, it was a place of importance as a military
post, being the Government head-quarters, then containing a population
of five thousand inhabitants.
As we look upon these old Spaniards our thoughts go back to the days of
their sires, whose minds were ever on the alert in search of some new
sources from which would flow fresh streams of amusement. Their manners,
habits, and customs were once varied as their origin--having descended
from the Spanish, Italians, Corsicans, Arabs, and French, possessing the
peculiar traits of these nationalities. The carnivals, posy balls, and
many other amusements in which they formerly indulged, have now in a
great measure been absorbed by the Yankee element. The holiday
processions no longer march around the plaza, bearing their bright
banners and escutcheons blazoned with the ensigns of their kings, or
with the names of their favorite patron saints.
The night before Easter in St. Augustine the observance of a peculiar
custom is still retained, which the early settlers brought from Spain
with them: it is that of the young men going around to the houses of
their friends singing a song called Fromajardis. What a strange
sensation steals over us to be awakened just before the old cathedral
bells have chimed twelve by the sound of musical instruments,
accompanied with singing, in a foreign tongue, a song which has echoed
through the same town for more than three centuries! It indicates that
the Lenten season is now over, and the young men are anxious to
participate in feasting. Although it is customary, they are not always
invited to partake of a bountiful collation after their song is
finished, but are prepared to do so when the opportunity presents
itself. The extreme poverty of the old citizens now renders it
impossible for them to conform to the customs of palmier days, when
large amounts of money were received from Cuba by the soldiery, and the
labor of slaves furnished many with a genteel support. From these people
we can see with what tenacity they cling to their home associations;
although misfortune has crushed their spirits, and poverty lessened
their desire for enjoyment, yet in their hearts still lingers the memory
of a festive past, which now cheers them on through adverse fortune, and
lightens life of half its burdens.
Most of the old inhabitants are persons of very moderate means,
moderate ability, and moderate their wishes by surrounding
circumstances--who apparently live and grow old, ripen and die, with as
little effort toward great designs or grand projects as the sweet potato
in the hill. Many of them live seventy or eighty years, are born and die
in the same house without forming any foreign attachments or
associations--the machinery of their human frames not being moved with
as much rapidity here as North.
On account of their early training being impregnated with superstition,
the imaginary ghost that moves gloomily around at midnight is always
their terror. The tongue or pen of critics is never prostrated when in
search of material for feasts of fault-finding--a multitude of remarks
being made with reference to the apparent indolence of the natives, not
thinking that the atmosphere by which they are surrounded is in no way
conducive to great physical exertion. The inhabitants follow hunting and
fishing, besides cultivating their gardens, while some of them have
cow-pens for their cattle, and land outside the city, which they till.
They are a quiet, frugal people, retiring in their manners, and simple
in their ways--the very opposite in every respect of the grasping,
bustling, overreaching Yankee--devoted Catholics, warm in their
friendship, but timid toward strangers. The young girls in the community
have a type of feminine beauty which can be seen at no other place,
except on the shores of the Mediterranean, or in the Madonnas of the
Italian masters--in short, St. Augustine is an Italian town on the
shores of America, and in that respect differs from any on the Western
Continent.
The language spoken by their progenitors is supposed to have been
identical with that used in the Court of Spain before the days of
Ferdinand and Isabella. It has the terseness of the French, without the
grandiloquence of the Spanish, being derived directly from the Latin.
There is nothing now remaining of courtly splendors. A few only of the
ancient tenements are left, some of them tumbling down by degrees; those
having occupants are a class of persons struggling for an existence,
with adverse circumstances surrounding them which cannot be overcome,
but must be borne in silent submission. Our imagination before visiting
declining architecture is always to conceive that they have an air of
the picturesque--a softness reflected on them by moonlight, or a
panorama with dulcet strains floating somewhere in our fanciful dreams.
All visitors come with an object, well or ill defined--the student to
look, the historian to gather dates and make records, while the restless
spirit that roves everywhere is here in search of something new or
wonderful for his eyes to rest on a brief period of time. At this place
there is an unchanging serenity of sky, a clear and harmonious blending
of two colors--white and blue--with a soft shading, and the line of
distinction lightly drawn. Long level stretches of sandy country lie
before us on the beach, covered by the canopy of heaven, and lighted by
the luminary of day. The Matanzas River is ever in view, and, like other
waters, has its moods, with its surface sometimes smooth as the downy
cheek of infancy, then wrinkled as the brow of age, or stirred like the
impulses of an enraged partisan in a political contest. Every morning
the same sun rises over Anastasia Light-house, and beams across the
waters like burnished steel; the curtain of nature rises on the same
scene, the early dawn brings the same worshipers; the priests read the
sacred service, and we find it an easy task to banish bad thoughts, and
become purer and better, if only for the time being.
A procession of nuns from St. Joseph's Academy, conducted by the Mother
Superior, passes along daily, silently as the flight of a feather
through the air. They have charge of two schools in St. Augustine for
both white and colored pupils, which are well patronized, where much
instruction, like the Jews of old, is given in the ceremonials of the
ritualistic law. Their new coquina convent is pleasant, and the display
of fine laces, made by their busy fingers, incomparable. The little
chapel within the convent is very neat, containing a statue of their
patron, St. Joseph, watching over it. They exhibited to us a shred of
the Virgin Mary's dress, also a piece of the cross on which the Saviour
was hung; but it required a greater stretch of our imagination than we
were able to command to perceive the resemblance, particularly as we had
never seen the original, or had any description of it.
The religion here is that which sprang into existence during the Middle
Ages, when the minds of the people were unable to comprehend a
disembodied spirit, an intangible, ideal substance somewhere; for this
reason images were introduced to address their supplications. It is now
the pomp of pontifical splendor, and not the strength of persuasive
eloquence, that overawes the assembled multitudes--a scenic display
metamorphosed into a religious drama, where "monks and priests are only
players."
St. Augustine, unlike the European cities, bears no record of great
prosperity or vanished splendors in the display of colossal buildings,
or fine scientific skill, as the present period boasts of more fine
houses than at any time anterior to this. What a host of past memories
rise before us on every side as we walk its narrow streets, overshadowed
by mid-air balconies! Here are the old palace-grounds, where the Dons
from Spain paraded their troops, and exhibited them, with burnished
armor and crimson sashes, before a queenly array of beauty seated on the
verandas of the old Spanish governor's head-quarters. It is here the
fierce and warlike Seminoles made furious assaults, and were held in
check until the women and children could take refuge in the castle.
The Seminole Indians lurked in the vicinity of St. Augustine during all
the seven-years' struggle, but never, except as prisoners or to make
purchases, did they enter it, which was quite different from other
settlements which they depopulated and then destroyed. It is for this
reason we see so many older buildings here than in other Florida towns,
among the most ancient of which is the Escribanio, now called St. Mary's
Convent, west of the cathedral. It was built for and occupied as El
Escribanio, or business department of the governor. It was built of
coquina and concrete, with a tile floor, much of the material used being
brought from Cuba, and of the most durable quality. All business
connected with the Government was transacted here. It was the annex
building of the palace, but afterward occupied as a private residence
until 1852, when it became church-property, being then purchased by
Father Aubril. In 1858 Bishop Verot took charge of it, and then it was
used only temporarily as a convent by the Sisters of Mercy, an order of
French nuns.
The tale that is told of hard floors being for penance, where nuns had
kneeled until the brick was worn away, is only a fabrication. The floor,
like all those laid in Cuba, was the best burnt tiles. Also, that the
groans of unhappy nuns who had died here from too much abstinence had
been heard echoing through the arches at unseasonable hours, when
spiritual visitants are supposed to be moving around, is another
intangible story with which visitors are entertained who hanker after
the mysterious. No nuns died in that convent, as the time they occupied
it was too brief for any marked mortality.
This silent old town appears to sleep all summer, with an occasional
lucid moment, when an excursion comes in for a day's recreation, until
winter, when every thing is brought into requisition, with which a dime
or a dollar can be turned from a visitor's pocket. It is then the dear
old folks from a colder clime come to sit and sun themselves on the
sea-wall, or balconies, while the young people walk, ride horseback,
take moonlight strolls, and sail on the quiet bay or restless sea,
talking, laughing, and singing as they go.
The hotel-keepers look cheerful again, the Spanish señoras smile sweetly
as they exhibit their palmetto hats and grasses, while an orange stick
and an alligator are the aspiration of the lads--the latter being a
marvel to Northern visitors. When a genuine, live alligator cannot be
obtained, a photograph has to suffice, taken after the animal has been
captured and tied, to be made to sit for his picture.
It is true, many complain of the manner in which they are annoyed by all
kinds of professions, from the boot-black--who screams in your ears,
"Shine, sah!" until you feel like elevating him somewhere among the
shining orbs, from which point he would not soon return--to the hotel
bills. "Four dollars a day, sir; if no baggage, in advance." Then the
carriages--"Ride, sir? take a nice ride?" The pleasure-yachts come in
for their share of attention--"Take an excursion over on the beach? I
takes over pleasure-parties."
These all swoop down on the defenseless travelers, like birds of prey
over a fallen carcass, to the amusement of some, and the annoyance of
many more. There is no lack of attention from interested parties, if you
have the money to spend.
During the winter the old wharf, which shakes as though it had the palsy
whenever a dog trots over it, has men and boys throwing out lines with a
simple hook, and others with elaborate reels and silver hooks, amusing
themselves; while the old Spaniards bask in the sunshine, on the
sea-wall, resting from their night of toil in fishing on the rolling
waves, as a means of support, like the apostles of old.
A good cart was formerly the highest ambition of the natives, while now
elegant carriages, with liveried drivers, roll around the streets,
decked with the trappings of wealth and show of fashion.
It is very amusing, many times, to hear the uncultured youths, reared in
St. Augustine, make remarks in regard to the appearance and dress of
visitors, frequently mocking them when they are speaking, particularly
if the language is a little more refined than that to which they have
been accustomed; but the most astonishing thing of all is the mysterious
manner with which the natives come in possession of your name, the facts
connected with your movements, where you stay, and, more than all, if
you have any money. If you are not flush and free with funds, you can
rest from any annoyances, except boarding-house keepers, who have
adopted the motto, "Pay as you go, or go away."
The celebrated Florida curiosities are a great source of traffic, from
the June-bugs to the head of a Jew-fish, including stuffed baby
alligators that neither breathe nor eat, tusks from the grown ones,
mounted with gold; birds of beautiful and varied plumage, relieved by
the taxidermist of every thing but their coat of feathers and the
epidermis, looking at you from out glass windows, through glass eyes;
screech-owl tails and wings; pink and white curlew-feathers; saws from
sword-fish of fabulous length; sharks' heads; sea-beans, supposed to
have grown on Anastasia Island, but drifted from the West Indies; and
the palm, wrought in so many varied and fanciful forms of imaginary and
practical utility as scarcely to be identified as a native of the
Florida wilds, whose rough and jagged stalks seem to defy an assault
from the hand of the most expert explorer, being upheld by its roots of
inexplicable size and length.
Most visitors think their tour incomplete without a palmetto hat; but
who of the many that purchase asks, or cares, where these home-made
articles were produced--what thoughts were woven by the light-hearted
workers--what fancies flitted through the brain of the dark-eyed maiden,
in whose veins flows the blood of a foreign clime.
The Florida pampas-grass, gathered from the surrounding swamps, is much
used in ornamenting China vases and ladies' hats, together with the
excrescent growths from the tall cypress-trees. Each countryman's cart
has a marsh-hen, blue crane, or a box of live alligators, seeking to
make money and divert the attention of curiosity-seeking persons.
All visitors will, no doubt, be solicited, freely and frequently, by the
different crafts, to make an investment; but it is all nothing.
Everybody has to make a support in some way--as the little boy replied
to the Northerner who asked him how the people all lived down here in
this sandy country. The lad replied, "Off from sweet taters and sick
Yankees."
It has hitherto been a prolific source of entertainment for those who
have been here to listen to the narrations of old settlers. The tide of
memory never fails them. They can relate things that occurred long
anterior to the current of their existence, with the same unbroken
connection of circumstances as though they were among the events of
yesterday. Most of the old settlers are dead now; but the legends live
with the younger ones--the legendary transfer having been made without
any apparent diminution of the marvelous.
Our days here pass in peaceful quietude, the time moving on with
imperceptible speed; but the daily records would not fill a page in
history, or supply material for a romance. An incident occasionally
takes place, which stirs the under-current of life a little--as the
capsizing of a yacht, catching a big fish, shark, or alligator.
Adventurers who come here seeking employment do not receive a hearty
welcome. The natives look upon that class of persons as a kind of
interlopers, who want to suck the sweets from their oranges, and lick
the sirup from their bread, without paying them for it.
Persons here from Northern climes are expected to spend the winter in
breathing the balmy air, canopied with skies clothed in the softest
radiance of a summer sun, and praising every thing they see. If they
have any doubt in regard to what they hear, let them lock it in secret,
and keep silent until they leave; for the inhabitants think that this
was once the paradise of the Peri, which will some day be restored to
its pristine loveliness.
Visitors who are always ventilating their prejudices and preferences too
freely, in any place, make enemies. Let none presume to tread upon the
dangerous ground of expressing an adverse opinion with reference to what
they see, in any of the small settlements with which Florida is filled,
or in the larger towns either, if they wish to be fanned by the breath
of popular favor. Always take the spirit of volatile indifference with
you, to waft you through all the little inconveniences which you may
have to encounter, resolving to accept and submit to every thing just as
you find it, or fold up your blanket and steal quietly away where you
can regulate things to your liking.
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