CHAPTER XVI.
FROM the following account we can imagine under what difficulties young men went on hunting-excursions a century since in Florida:
“The Spanish Governor’s son, living in St. Augustine, together with two other young men, arranged a trip on the coast for the purpose of hunting and fishing. Being provided with a convenient bark, ammunition, fishing-tackle, etc., they set sail, directing their course south, toward the point of Florida, putting in to shore and sailing up rivers, as a conveniency or the prospect of game invited them. The pleasing rural and diversified scenes of the Florida coast imperceptibly allured them far to the south beyond the fortified post. Unfortunate youths! regardless of the advice of their parents and friends, they entered a harbor at evening, with a view of chasing the roebuck, and hunting up the sturdy bear, or solacing themselves with delicious fruits, and reposing under aromatic shades, when, alas! cruel and unexpected event—in the beatific moments of their slumbers they are surrounded, arrested, and carried off by a band of predatory Creek Indians, who are proud to capture so rich a prize. They are hurried into bondage, being conducted, by devious paths through dreary swamps and boundless savannahs, to the Nation.”
It was at this time the Indians were at furious war with the Spaniards—scarcely any bounds set to their cruelties on either side; in short, the youths were condemned to be burnt. An attempt was made to rescue them, by some English traders, from their unrelenting persecutors, who petitioned the Indians in their behalf, offering a great ransom for their release, acquainting them, at the same time, that they were young men of high rank, and one of them the governor’s son. Upon this the head-men or chiefs of the whole Nation were convened, and, after solemn and mature deliberation, they returned the traders their final answer and determination, which was as follows:
“Brothers and Friends:—We have been considering upon this business concerning the captives, and that under the eye and fear of the Great Spirit. You know that these people are our cruel enemies; they save no lives of us red men who fall in their power. You say that the youth is the son of the Spanish Governor. We believe it—we are sorry he has fallen into our hands, but he is our enemy. The two young men are equally our enemies—we are sorry to see them here, but we know no difference in their flesh and blood; they are equally our enemies. If we save one, we must save all three; but we cannot do it. The red men require their blood to appease the spirits of their slain relatives; they have intrusted us with the guardianship of our laws and rights—we cannot betray them. However, we have a sacred prescription relative to this affair, which allows us to extend mercy to a certain degree: a third is saved by lot. The Great Spirit allows us to put it to that decision; he is no respecter of persons.”
The lots are cast. The governor’s son was taken and burnt.
Hunters now go on excursions down the Florida coast as a pleasant pastime, with no fear from human foes, and no inconvenience, save a few musquitoes and sand-flies, which furnish a feast of merriment for their friends when they relate their adventures after returning. There is a decided difference between coming here in 1774 and 1874.
Matanzas is situated eighteen miles below St. Augustine, at the mouth of the Bloody Matanzas River. In the vicinity a boarding-house has recently been erected, for the accommodation of visitors. The echoes from busy life are so faint and far away, and so long in reaching us here, that we feel as though we were in another state of existence—the outside world only affecting us like a spent wave, as it dies away on the shore. The fishing-boats steal slowly by with nets and lines; the fishermen are silent, although their lives are not sad; but they snare the voiceless dwellers of the deep, which have peculiar habits to be studied, and baited for with cautious movements, before they can be captured. There is no crowding, no jostling, no dust—all is peace, and the pure air is life. An occasional schooner approaches from New York; it comes like a good angel on a mission of mercy, laden with stores for the sustenance of citizens and strangers.
Fort Matanzas, although cracked and seamed from turret to foundation, is ever redolent of past memories. It is about twenty feet in height, and formerly had brass cannon mounted on the ramparts, designed to command Matanzas Bar. During the Spanish rule of 1800, to the time of its cession to the United States, it was occupied by a company of soldiers, who guarded the entrance to St. Augustine; also for the punishment of officers or soldiers who had been drunk, or wandering from the path of duty in any way. Its last commander was Captain Christobal Bravo, whose son, bearing the same name, is now a worthy citizen of St. Augustine, and can relate incidents which occurred during the time his father was stationed there. This fortress, inferring from facts furnished by the old French records, is, no doubt, the one commenced by the two hundred who escaped the night previous to the fatal massacre by Melendez. It never had a portcullis, or sally-port, but was entered by an escalade from the outside, after which the ladder was drawn up and dropped down inside, where were casemates for the soldiers’ quarters and rations, also an ordnance department, and lock-up for delinquents to cool off from their potions and meditate upon the uncertainties of all earthly pleasures—particularly that of taking a glass too much! It is partly concealed by vines and foliage—reminding us that Nature, when not interrupted, comes to close the yawning gaps of busy-fingered Time, planting a twining ivy, a hardy cactus, or a climbing rose, covered with blooms and verdure—thus teaching us the lesson of resignation, which clothes our misfortunes in the garments of grace, producing the flowers of fragrance, although the jagged edges of rough, rugged paths surround us. Here we have a fine view of the sea, where the sun rises fresh every morning as the day after its creation; and we can imagine Aurora scattering flowers before his chariot as the fleecy clouds, decked with the purity of the day-dawn, burst upon our delighted vision.
New Smyrna.—Dr. Turnbull obtained a grant from the English Government for settling a Greek colony in Florida, which had been ceded to them by Spain in 1763. He sailed to Peloponnesus, and obtained permission from the Governor of Modon, for a consideration, to convey to Florida a large number of Greek families. In 1767 he sailed with one small vessel from Modon; putting in at the islands of Corsica and Minorca, he recruited his numbers to fifteen hundred. He agreed to give them a free passage, furnish them in good provisions and clothing; at the end of three years’ service to give each family fifty acres of land, and in six months after their arrival, if they were discontented, to send them back. Many of the old people died during the voyage of four months. Sixty thousand acres were granted them by the Governor of Florida. As it was then winter, they built huts of palmetto to shelter them, and the following spring commenced planting their gardens. This settlement was about sixty miles south of St. Augustine—they named it New Smyrna, for a Grecian city from which they came, in Peloponnesus, where they all contended Homer was born, but, unlike its namesake—being ten times destroyed, always rose from her ruins—it has never been rebuilt since the indigo speculation proved a failure. The first year they engaged in the culture of indigo, when the crop amounted to nearly forty thousand dollars, but the price declining so rapidly, it was soon abandoned. Turnbull did not treat them kindly; he appointed drivers from the Italians, reducing them to the lowest slavery, when they were assigned tasks and drew weekly rations. When the clothes they had brought with them were worn out, they were furnished with a suit of osnaburgs, giving the men shoes, but the women none, although many of them were accustomed to affluence in their own country. This servitude continued for nine years. The cruelties exercised over them were equal to those of the Spaniards of St. Domingo. For the most trifling offense they were cruelly beaten, negroes being chosen mediums for this torture. If they ran away, they were brought back, the one who returned them receiving a reward. At the termination of nine years, only six hundred remained of the fifteen hundred brought over. Finally three of them escaped, and, after swimming the Matanzas River, arrived in St. Augustine, when they made known their business to Colonel Yonge, the Attorney-general of the Province, who gave them protection. A change of governors had taken place, Grant being superseded by Tonyn. Grant was supposed to have been connected with Turnbull in the speculation. Tonyn interfered in their behalf, setting them at liberty. Mr. Pallicier was chosen their leader when they marched out of bondage, like the children of Israel, from what to them had been an Egypt. The governor treated them kindly on their arrival in St. Augustine, giving them lands in the north part of the city, where they built houses and cultivated gardens, which are occupied by their children to this day.