To start the work at St. Augustine, Queen Mariana chose Don Manuel de
Cendoya, gave him the governorship of Florida, and sent him to Mexico
City to confer with the Marqués de Mancera, Viceroy of New Spain.
Cendoya’s first task was to collect the promised 12,000 pesos for
starting the job, and that accomplishment he reported in the middle of
January 1671. The disquieting news of the English settlement of
Charleston gave point to his discussions with the Marqués.
On his way to Florida, Cendoya stopped at Havana, looking for skilled
workmen—masons and lime burners. There he found an engineer, Ignacio
Daza. It was on August 8, 1671, that the first workman began to draw his
pay. By the time the mosquitoes were sluggish in the cooler fall
weather, the coquina pits on Anastasia Island were open, and two big
limekilns were being built just north of the old fort. The carpenters
put up a palm-thatched shelter at the quarries; they built a dozen
large, square-end dugouts and laid rafts over them for hauling stone for
the fortification and firewood and oyster shells for the limekilns; and
they built boxes, handbarrows, and _carretas_ (long, narrow, hauling
wagons). At his anvil, the blacksmith made a great noise, hammering out
axes, picks, and stonecutters’ hatchets, and putting on their steel
edges; drawing out the bars to the proper length and flattening their
ends for crowbars; working shapeless masses of iron into shovels,
spades, hoes, and wedges; and for lighter work, making nails of all
kinds and sizes for the carpenters. The grindstone screeched as the
cutting edges went on the tools.
In the quarries 3 leagues from the presidio, Indian peons chopped out
the dense thickets of scrub oak and palmetto, driving out the
rattlesnakes and clearing the ground for the shovelers to uncover the
top layer of coquina. Day after day Alonso Díaz, the quarry overseer,
kept the picks and axes going, cutting deep grooves into the soft yellow
stone, while with bar and wedge the peons broke loose and pried up the
rough blocks—small pieces that a single man could shoulder, and
tremendously heavy, waterlogged cubes 2 feet thick and twice as long
that six strong men could hardly lift from the bed of sandy shell. As a
layer of stone was removed, again the shovelmen came in, taking off the
newly exposed bed of loose shell and uncovering yet another and deeper
stratum of rock. Down and down the quarrymen went until their pits
reached water and they could go no farther. Díaz watched his peons heave
the finest stone on the wagons. He sent the oxen plodding to the wharf
at the head of a marshy creek, and carefully balanced the load of rough
stone on the rafts for ferrying across current to the building site. And
on the opposite shore of the bay, next to the old fort, the pile of
unhewn stone daily grew larger, while the stonecutters plied their
squares and chopped unceasingly to shape the soft coquina for the
masons.
In the limekilns, oyster shells glowed white-hot and changed into fine
quality, quick-setting lime. By spring of 1672, there were 4,000
_fanegas_ (some 7,000 bushels) of lime in the two storehouses, and the
great piles of both hewn and rough stone were a welcome sight to the
people of St. Augustine.
[Illustration: MOST OF THE ROOMS OPEN INTO THE SQUARE COURTYARD OR
PARADE OF THE FORT. THE WELL IN THIS CORNER FURNISHED THE ONLY PALATABLE
WATER SUPPLY FOR REFUGEES INSIDE THE FORT DURING TIMES OF SIEGE.]
Though it was only preparation for the main job, great obstacles had
already been overcome. Very little masonry had ever been done in the
presidio, and, with the exception of the imported artisans, the workmen
had to be trained. Even the imported ones had much to learn about
coquina, the natural shellrock peculiar to this section of Florida.
Coquina is nothing more than broken sea shells cemented together by
their own lime. Where the layer of shells has been under great pressure,
the rock is solid and hard; where pressure has been less, the stone is
coarse and easily crumbled. The men had to become expert in grading the
stone, for only the hardest and finest rock could go into the
fortification. There was also a shortage of common labor. When there
should have been 150 men to keep the 15 artisans working at top speed—50
in the quarries and hauling stone, 50 for gathering oyster shells and
helping at the kilns, and another 50 for digging the foundation
trenches, carrying the baskets of sand, and mixing mortar—it was hard to
get as many as 100 laborers on the job.
Indians from three Nations, the Guale (Georgia), Timucua (eastern
Florida) and Apalache (western Florida), were called upon for labor.
Some of them had to travel 80 leagues to reach the presidio. Many of
them served unwillingly. There were serious domestic problems, for these
peons had the choice of bringing their families with them or leaving the
women and children in the home villages to eke out their own living. In
some cases, not even the chiefs were exempt from the draft. In theory
each complement of Indian labor served only a certain length of time; in
practice it was not uncommon for the men to be held much beyond their
assigned time, either through necessity or carelessness. One wretched
chief was forced to labor on the works for more than 3 years without
once returning to his own lands. Some of the Indians were used as
servants by the Governors. True, the Indians were paid for their labor.
Even the Apalaches, condemned years before to labor on the
fortifications as the penalty for rebellion, apparently received a wage.
The Indian peon was cheap labor—1 real (12½¢) per day, plus rations of
maize—but he was not good labor, for by nature the Indian was unfit for
heavy work on a European-style fortification. A brave might play the
bone-breaking game of Indian ball for a full day, but he could not stand
up under the “day-in, day-out,” grinding, back-straining labor of the
quarries. Not all the Indians, however, were common laborers. A half
dozen developed into carpenters, and though they did not receive the top
wage of 10 to 12 reales, they seemed well pleased with their 8
reales—which was twice what apprentice carpenters earned.
In addition to Indian labor, there were a few Spanish peons who were
paid 4 reales per day, a few of the Crown’s Negro slaves, and a number
of convicts, either from the local presidio or sent from Caribbean
ports. The convicts served terms of varying length, depending upon the
nature of their crimes. A typical convict might have been the Spaniard
caught smuggling English goods into the colony, and he was condemned to
6 years’ labor on the fortifications at St. Augustine. If he tried to
escape, the term was doubled and he faced the grim prospect of being
sent to a fever-infested African presidio to work it out.
Spanish skilled labor included the military engineer, Ignacio Daza, who
was paid the top wage of 3 pesos per day. Daza died within a year of his
arrival in Florida, so the Crown paid only the surprisingly small sum of
546 pesos (about $862) for engineering services in starting the greatest
of Spanish Florida fortifications. Of the artisans, there were Lorenzo
Lagones, master of construction, and a pair of master masons, each of
whom received the master workman’s wage of 20 reales (about $2.50) per
day. In addition there were 7 masons at 12 reales, 8 stonecutters at the
same rate, and a dozen carpenters whose pay ranged from 6 to 12 reales
per working day.
There were few men for the job in hand, and to speed the work along
Governor Cendoya had to be ingenious and resourceful. Constantly on the
lookout for labor, he seized the opportunity of using prisoners from the
Carolina Colony, and, ironically enough, they were of exceptional help
in building this defense against their own countrymen. Back in 1670, a
vessel bound for Charleston Harbor accidentally put in at Santa Catalina
Mission, the Spanish frontier post near the Savannah River. William Carr
and John Rivers were captured. A rescue expedition set out from
Charleston, and when the sloop arrived at the Mission, Joseph Bailey and
John Collins took a blustering message ashore. For their pains, they
were dispatched with Rivers and Carr to St. Augustine. There, from time
to time, they were joined by other English prisoners.
The Governor did not long hesitate in putting them to work. Three of the
prisoners turned out to be masons, and the Spanish form of their
names—Bernardo Patricio (for Bernard Patrick), Juan Calens (for John
Collins), and Guillermo Car (for William Carr)—appeared on the pay
rolls. Some of the Englishmen entered into the life of the presidio as
permanent residents. At least one of them took a Florida bride. Although
the Spanish were cautious in depending too much upon the fealty of these
Englishmen to the Spanish Crown, there was little occasion to denounce
their unwillingness to serve.
John Collins especially pleased the Spanish officials. He could burn
more lime in a week than Spanish workmen could in twice the time, and
what was also to the point, as a prisoner he had to be paid only 8
reales instead of the 20 due a master workman. This Juan Calens appeared
to like St. Augustine. He rose steadily in the Crown’s employ from
master of the kilns to quarry master. Next he took charge of the
dugouts, the provisions, and the convicts. Eventually he held even the
important office of pilot from St. Augustine to Charleston. Royal
recognition of his zeal and loyalty was the culmination of his 19 years
or more of service in the presidio.
[Illustration: SALAZAR’S PLAN OF THE CASTILLO SHOWS CONSTRUCTION TO
1680.]
Another unusual case developed a few years later. Some leagues north of
St. Augustine, 11 Englishmen were captured. All of them except one
Ransom were committed to the galleys. Ransom was to be hanged. On the
appointed day this man ascended the scaffold. The hangman put the noose
about his neck. The trap opened. The rope jerked taut, then broke. Down
tumbled Ransom, safe and sound. While the onlookers marveled, the friars
took it as an act of God and led Ransom to sanctuary in the Convent of
San Francisco. Word reached the Governor that this man was an ingenious
fellow, an artillerist, a carpenter, and, what was most remarkable, a
maker of “artificial fires.” Ransom was offered his life if he would
leave sanctuary, live “protected” within the fort, and put his talents
to use. He agreed and, like Collins, was exceedingly helpful, for none
other in the presidio had such abilities.
All told, there were close to 150 men working in those first days of
feverish preparations. They, along with about 500 other persons,
including about 100 effective soldiers in the garrison, a few Franciscan
friars, a dozen mariners, and the townspeople, had to be fed. When
supplies from New Spain did not arrive, the problem of providing food
was even more difficult than finding men to work on the fort, especially
since the sandy soil around the presidio yielded poorly to the primitive
agricultural practices of the seventeenth century.
Indian corn or maize was the staple, and most of the planting,
cultivating, and harvesting of the extensive fields near the town was
done by Indians brought from their provinces to do the work, so that at
times there were as many as 300 Indians serving the Crown in the
presidio, counting those at work on the fortification. The Indian peons
were furnished rations of maize both while they were in St. Augustine
and for their journey over the wilderness trails to their homes, and
certain of the convicts were also given a ration of Indian corn. This
native corn cost the Crown 7½ reales per arroba (25 pounds) and an
arroba lasted the average Indian only 10 days. Flour was imported from
New Spain at a cost of 10 reales per arroba, and the master workmen, the
English masons, and the Spanish convicts were given rations from this
store. In addition, these convicts received a ration of meat. Fresh meat
was not plentiful, but the waters teemed with fish and there were plenty
of shellfish. A paid fisherman kept the men supplied. There were few
garden vegetables. Squash grew well in the sandy soil, and there were
beans and sweetpotatoes, citron, pomegranates, and figs. The orange had
already been introduced. And of course there were the favorite
seasonings of onion and garlic. Withal, however, it must be remembered
that St. Augustine was not a self-supporting settlement. After a century
of existence, it still depended for its very life upon the subsidy from
New Spain.
As the long, hot days of the second summer shortened into fall, Governor
Cendoya saw that after a year spent in gathering men and materials he
was ready to start construction.
No long-drawn-out survey and detailed study helped to locate the
castillo, for the Spanish had learned their lessons by a century and
more of experiment on the shores of Matanzas Bay. Engineer Daza and
Governor Cendoya decided that the new fort should be erected on the west
shore of the bay by the side of the old fort, a site which took into
account every natural defense feature of the harbor. Here, the enemy
would find it almost impossible to bring his heavy siege guns within
range. A shallow bar at the channel entrance kept the bigger warships
out to sea. Any other vessel entering the harbor had to pass under the
fort guns. The town and the fort were on a narrow peninsula surrounded
on three sides by water or impassable marsh; the fourth side—the
northern neck where the old fort stood—was constricted by a meandering
creek. Beyond the marshes was wilderness—the pine barrens and cypress
swamps, palmetto scrubs, and oak groves. Roads were but Indian trails
and the quickest passage from one coastal fortified post to the next was
along the inland waterway in dugouts. Attackers might march quickly down
the coast on the wide, hard beaches (provided they could cross the
numerous estuaries on the way), but they were still faced with an
advance over broad river and marsh before they could reach the fort.
Nor was it a problem to work out the plan for the castillo. Both Daza
and the Governor liked the design of the old fort. They, meeting with
the General Council, decided merely to build the castillo slightly
larger in order to make room for quarters, guardroom, chapel, wells,
ovens, powder magazine, and other essential rooms not included in the
old fort. In line with the more recent ideas, Daza recommended a slight
lengthening of the bastions. All around the castillo they planned to dig
a broad, deep moat, and then surround the land sides with a high
palisade.
It was a simple and unpretentious plan, but a good one. Daza was
apparently schooled in the Italian-Spanish principles of fortification
as developed from the sixteenth century designs of Franceso de Marchi,
for Sébastien de Vauban, the great French engineer, was still but a
young man in 1671. Little is known about Ignacio Daza, but if he were
the typical military engineer, he was nothing if not practical. And
Daza, if he were typical, was more than a draftsman. For a military
engineer, it was “not sufficient to know how to draw plans, profils and
landskips; to understand a few propositions in geometry, or to know how
to build a wall or a house; on the contrary, he ought to be well
grounded in all the most useful branches of the mathematics, and how to
apply them to practice, natural philosophy, and architecture; have a
good notion of all kind of handicraft works; and above all things, to be
well versed in mechanics.”