Treaty Ratified—Jackson Appointed Provisional Governor—Goes to
Pensacola—Mrs. Jackson in Pensacola—Change of Flags—Callava
Imprisoned—Territorial Government—Governor Duval—First Legislature
Meets at Pensacola.
Although the United States was unremitting in its efforts to induce
Spain to ratify the treaty of cession, her ratification was postponed
from time to time under various pretexts. Prominent English journals
having declared, that if Florida was ceded to the United States, Great
Britain, in order to maintain her influence in the Gulf of Mexico,
should insist upon a surrender to her of the Island of Cuba, public
opinion in the United States settled down to the conclusion that the
delay of the ratification was due to British intrigue. But, that this
opinion was ill founded, is evident from President Monroe’s message of
the seventh of December, 1819, in which he says: “In the course which
the Spanish government has on this occasion thought proper to pursue, it
is satisfactory to know that they have not been countenanced by any
European power. On the contrary, the opinion and wishes of both France
and Great Britain have not been withheld either from the United States
or Spain, and have been unequivocal in favor of ratification.”
The procrastination of Spain was the occasion of intense public feeling
in the United States; which at length formally manifested itself on
March 8, 1820, in a resolution reported by the committee of Foreign
Relations of the House of Representatives, to authorize the President to
take possession of West Florida. Patience, however, prevailed, and on
February 19, 1821, the ratification took place.
General Jackson was shortly afterwards appointed Provisional Governor of
Florida, and instructed to proceed to Pensacola with a small military
force, to receive from the Spanish authorities a formal surrender of
West Florida. On April 18, he left the Hermitage, with Mrs. Jackson and
his adopted son, Andrew Jackson Donelson, to enter upon the long,
tedious journey to Pensacola, via New Orleans.
A stage of the journey in Southern Alabama, brought him to a military
post, in the neighborhood of which, William Weatherford, the Creek hero,
resided. At the suggestion of General Jackson, Colonel Brooke, the
commandant of the Post, and his host, invited Weatherford to dine with
his conqueror. The invitation was accepted. When the Great Chief
appeared, Jackson cordially met him, and taking him by the hand,
presented him to Mrs. Jackson as “the bravest man in his tribe.”
Coming into Florida early in July, on reaching what was then known as
the Fifteen Mile House, now as Gonzalia, where Mr. Manuel Gonzalez then
had his cattle ranch, the General spent several days with him. Whilst
there, hearing of the approach of his troops, accompanied by Mr.
Gonzalez, he went up the road to meet them. Coming to a creek, they saw
the wagons of several up-country traders stuck in the mud, which the
latter, for lack of sufficient force, were making ineffectual attempts
to move. On the other side of the branch were several men lying on the
ground, and horses grazing near them. Accosting the men who were tugging
at the wheels of a wagon, Jackson said, “Why don’t you get those men
across the branch to help you?” “Oh! they say they are General Jackson’s
staff.” “Well,” said he, “I am General Jackson himself, and by the
eternal, I will help you!” And with those words, dismounting from his
horse, and throwing off his coat, he lustily put his shoulder to the
wheel.
Upon the arrival of the troops at the Fifteen Mile House, headquarters
were established, and remained there until all the arrangements were
made for a formal change of government.
Mrs. Jackson, however, took up her residence at Pensacola two or three
weeks before July 17, when the change of flags was to take place. During
the Sundays which preceded the change, Mrs. Jackson, who was an
eminently pious woman, cherishing great reverence for the Sabbath, was
greatly scandalized by the manner in which it was dishonored. Shops did
more business on that day than any other. It was a day of public
gambling, fiddling, dancing, and boisterous conduct. When the last
Sunday of Spanish rule came, seemingly because the last, the fiddling,
dancing, noise and confusion, exceeded that of any preceding one. Unable
to restrain her pious indignation, Mrs. Jackson vented it in a protest
against the Sabattic Saturnalia, made through Major Staunton, with the
emphatic announcement that the next Sunday should be differently spent.
In anticipation of the change of government, there was a large influx of
people from the States, induced by the great expectations entertained of
the future of Pensacola; a future in which it was confidently predicted,
it was to be the rival of New Orleans. Many persons also came expecting
official appointments from the new Governor, but who, greatly to his
chagrin, as we learn from Mrs. Jackson’s letters, were disappointed, in
consequence of the President himself making the appointments.
At length the sun arose upon the day when its beams were for the last
time to bathe in light the ancient banner of Castile and Aragon, as the
emblem of the sovereignty of these shores. In the early morning appeared
in the Public Square the Spanish Governor’s guards, handsomely dressed
and equipped, consisting of a full company of dismounted dragoons of the
regiment of Tarragona. After a parade, they fell into line south of the
flag staff, extending from east to west in front of the Government
House, which stood on the north-east corner of Jefferson and Sargossa
streets. At eight o’clock there marched down Palafox street a battalion
of the Fourth Infantry, and a company of the Fourth United States
Artillery, coming from their camp at Galvez Springs, which filing into
the Square, formed a line opposite the Spanish guards, and north of the
flag staff. Precisely at ten o’clock, General Jackson and his staff,
entering the Square, passed amid salutes from the Spanish and American
troops, between their lines to the Government House, where Governor
Callava awaited him for the purpose of executing the documentary
formalities of the cession. As the first sign that this act was
performed, the Spanish sergeant guard at the gate was relieved by an
American sentinel. General Jackson and Governor Callava then left the
house, and passed between the double line of troops. As they reached the
flag staff the Spanish flag came down, and the stars and stripes went
up, saluted by the Fourth Artillery and the sloop-of-war _Hornet_,
whilst her band, assisting at the ceremony, played the Star Spangled
Banner.
At Barrancas the ceremony was slightly different. The flags of both
nations appeared at the same time at half-mast. In that position they
were saluted by the Spaniards. As the flags were separated, one
ascending and the other descending, both were honored with a salute by
the Americans.
The day was naturally one of rejoicing to the Americans, but as
naturally one of sadness and in some instances of heart aches to the
Spanish population. The advantages of being under the United States
government were too great not to be appreciated by owners of real estate
and business men generally. But there was a sentimental side to the
change. Some of the Spanish garrison had married in Pensacola, and with
others the inhabitants had formed social ties, induced by a common
language, habits and tastes. To them it can well be imagined that the
change of flags was but the presage of bitter separations. In 1763 all
the Spanish left the country, and in a common exile mutual consolation
was found; but, in 1821, the sorrow was that a part went and a part
remained to mingle with a strange people. Mrs. Jackson, in a letter,
thus expresses the emotions of the occasion: “Oh! how they burst into
tears to see the last ray of hope depart from their devoted city and
country—delivering up the keys of the archives—the vessels lying in the
harbor in full view to waft them to their distant port.... How did the
city sit solitary and mourn. Never did my heart feel more for a people.
Being present, I entered immediately into their feelings.”
The Sunday following the change was, according to Mrs. Jackson’s
prediction, one of quietude and freedom from the license of previous
ones, which had so shocked her religious sensibilities. She thus
expresses the change: “Yesterday I had the happiness of witnessing the
truth of what I had said. Great order was observed, the doors kept shut,
the gambling houses demolished, fiddling and dancing not heard any more
on the Lord’s day, cursing not to be heard.” For the change the lovers
of Sunday quietude were doubtless indebted to Mrs. Jackson, for her
prediction is not to be taken as that of a prophetess who merely
foresees and foretells, but that of a woman with a will of her own, and
conscious of her ability to direct the stern governor in the exercise of
his authority, at least outside of politics.
The next morning after the change of flags, the Spanish officers and
garrison sailed for Havana in the transports _Anne Maria_ and _Tom
Shields_, under convoy of the United States sloop-of-war _Hornet_.
Governor Callava and staff, however, remained in Pensacola, where his
handsome person, polished manners, soldierly bearing and high character
made him a general favorite with the American officers and their
families, who extended to him every social courtesy. General and Mrs.
Jackson, however, were distant and reserved in their bearing towards
him, resulting in some measure from a prejudice against Spanish
officials induced by the general’s experience with Maurique and Masot.
Perhaps, too, there mingled with that prejudice a slight feeling of
jealousy of Callava’s social success, a weakness from which strong
characters, under the insinuation of others, are not exempt.
There soon occurred, however, a painful interruption of the gallant
Spaniard’s social enjoyment—so graceful an attendant of the change of
government—by an occurrence which must be regarded as a lasting reproach
to its authors.
The treaty required the Spanish government to surrender all documents
relating to private rights in the archives of the province. This duty
had been performed by Callava, who had caused a separation to be made
between the documents falling within the definition of the treaty and
others which did not, and had delivered the former to Alcalde H. M.
Brackenridge, an appointee of the American governor. The latter papers,
packed in boxes for transportation to Havana, were placed in the custody
of Domingo Sousa, one of Callava’s subordinates. In the separation of
the papers, one relating to the estate of Nicholas Maria Vidal,
involving a trifling sum, was by accident placed with the documents in
one of the boxes in Sousa’s possession.
A woman claiming to be an heir of Vidal complained to Brackenridge that
the paper had not been delivered to him and was about to be removed to
Havana by Sousa. Brackenridge, instead of politely calling Callava’s
attention to the woman’s complaint and asking for a surrender of the
document, at once made a preemptory demand for it upon Sousa. Sousa
properly declined compliance, alleging his want of authority to do so
without instructions from Callava, and at the same time, to relieve
himself from responsibility in the matter, sent the boxes to Callava’s
house. Brackenridge at once reported the matter to Jackson, who ordered
Sousa to be imprisoned, and at the same time Callava to be arrested and
brought before him immediately, although it was night and Callava was at
the time at a dinner party at Colonel Brooke’s. When the knightly
Castilian was brought before Jackson, he naturally proposed to enter a
protest against such astonishing proceedings. This Jackson would not
permit, but insisted that Callava should at once answer interrogatories
to be propounded to him. Callava’s persistent attempts to protest were
as persistently interrupted by Jackson, until at last the latter, in a
rage of passion, ordered him to be imprisoned, an order which was
promptly executed by committing him to the calaboose, where Sousa had
preceded him. This outrage committed, Alcalde Brackenridge, as if
determined to leave no bounds of decency unviolated, had the boxes at
Callava’s house opened that night and took from one of them the
worthless paper—worthless at least to the claimant—that had occasioned
the trouble.
For this disgraceful transaction Brackenridge is primarily responsible.
He was an intelligent lawyer, afterwards a judge, and later a member of
Congress from Pennsylvania; and therefore, presumably acquainted with
the decencies, to say nothing of the amenities of official intercourse.
He was likewise well acquainted with Jackson’s prejudices and irascible
temper, as well as what a fire-brand to his nature were the wrongs,
whether real or simulated, of a woman. In the light of these
considerations, Brackenridge must stand condemned, as either a wilful
mischief-maker, or a wily sycophant, playing from selfish motives, upon
the weaknesses of a great man.
But neither Jackson’s greatness, nor his being the dupe of Brackenridge,
can remove from him the reproach of having in this transaction violated
official courtesy, the chivalrous consideration due by one distinguished
soldier to another, as well as the laws of international comity and
hospitality.
A writ of Habeas Corpus was issued by Hon. Elijias Fromentin, U. S.
Judge for West Florida, to bring before him Callava and Sousa, on the
night they were committed. Obedience to the writ was refused by the
guard, who sent it to the Governor. Thereupon, His Excellency issued a
notice to the Judge to appear before him, “to show cause why he has
attempted to interfere with my authority as Governor of the Floridas,
exercising the powers of the Captain-General and Intendant of the Island
of Cuba.” The Judge prudently delayed his appearance until the next day,
in order to allow the Governor time to cool; but in the meantime
remained in momentary expectation of a guard to take him to jail. The
affair, however, ended in a stormy interview, in which to the Governor’s
question, whether the Judge “would dare to issue a writ to be served on
the Captain-General,” the latter replied, “No, but if the case should
require it, I would issue one to be served on the President of the
United States.”
After the troublesome paper was procured by Brackenridge, an order was
made for the release of Callava. A few days after his release he left
Pensacola for Washington to make his complaints to the United States
government.
Some of the Spanish officers whom he had left in Pensacola, published
after his departure, a paper expressing their sense of the outrage to
which he had been subjected. This being regarded by Jackson as an
attempt “to disturb the harmony, peace and good order of the existing
government of the Floridas,” the protesting Spaniards were by
proclamation ordered to leave the country by the third of October,
allowing them four days for preparation, “on pain of being dealt with
according to law, for contempt and disobedience of this, my
proclamation.”
A tragedy occurred during Jackson’s rule, which illustrates his lack of
tenderness of human life. With full knowledge of the affair, he
permitted a duel to be fought in a public place by two young officers,
Hull and Randall. When he was informed that the former had fallen, shot
through the heart, pistol in hand, with the trigger at half-cock, he
angrily exclaimed: “Damn the pistol; by G—d, to think that a brave man
should risk his life on a hair-trigger!”
Jackson’s bearing generally, and especially his summary dealings with
Callava and Sousa, had inspired the population with great fear of his
despotic temper. Of that feeling there occurred a ludicrous
illustration. An alarm of fire brought a crowd to the Public Square,
which was near the fire. General Jackson also hurried to the scene. To
stir the lookers-on to exertion, he made a yelling appeal. The crowd not
understanding English, and thinking it had heard a notice to disperse,
took to its heels, and left the General the sole occupant of the Square.
Mrs. Jackson was a domestic woman, and better satisfied to have her
husband at home, than to see him in exalted stations requiring his
absence from the Hermitage. Whilst in Pensacola, she pined for that dear
spot; and it is, evidently, with joy, that she announced in a letter to
a friend, that the General calls his coming to Florida, “a wild goose
chase,” and that he proposed an early return. In October they returned
to Tennessee.
That a man of his estate and political prospects, should have accepted,
to fill for a few months, the office of Governor of a wilderness, with a
salary of $5,000, admits of only one explanation. His recent campaign
had been so severely condemned, that he regarded the tender of the
appointment by Mr. Monroe, as having the semblance, at least, of a
national apology for the injustice which he had suffered, and
accordingly he accepted it in the spirit in which it was tendered. In a
word, he filled the office, because filling it would be a vindication of
his conduct in the campaign of 1818.
On the third of March, 1822, congress established a territorial
government for both the Floridas as one territory. The first governor
under the territorial organization was W. P. Duval of Kentucky, who had
represented a district of that state in congress, and who was the
original of Washington Irving’s Ralph Ringwood. He resided, temporarily,
in Pensacola, where the legislative council of thirteen, appointed by
the President, held its first session. It had hardly begun its work,
however, when the yellow fever breaking out compelled an adjournment to
the Fifteen-mile house, before mentioned, where the Florida statutes of
1822 were enacted. One of them illustrates the vice or virtue there may
be in a name. The title of “An Act for the Benefit of Insolvent
Debtors,” was misprinted in the laws of the session so as to read: “An
Act for the Relief of Insolent Debtors.” The error destroyed its
utility, and no man, it is said, as long as it remained on the statute
book, ever invoked the relief of its provisions.
The limit assigned to these historical sketches has now been reached.
The space that intervenes between the visit of the luckless Narvaez to
Pensacola bay and the establishment of the territorial government of
Florida embraces a period of nearly three hundred years. The changes and
shifting scenes which, during that period, marked the history of the
settlements on its shores, stand in contrast with the persistency of the
arbitrary boundary line of the Perdido, established by the mutual
consent of the Spanish and French in the early years of the eighteenth
century. Disturbed by the English dominion for twenty years, it was
restored by the Spanish, and finally confirmed in 1822 by the act of
congress establishing a territorial government for the Floridas.
In 1820 the constitutional convention of Alabama, in anticipation of the
ratification of the Spanish treaty, memorialized congress to embrace
West Florida within the boundaries of that state. The memorial enforced
the measure with all those obvious arguments which come to the mind when
it turns to the subject. But they were silenced, as if by the imperious
decree of fate that the Perdido boundary should be, and forever remain,
a monument of d’ Arriola’s diligence in reaching the Gulf coast three
years before d’ Iberville.