Fort St. Michael and Fort St. Bernard were other works of defense built in the rear of Pensacola, but designed originally to protect the town and harbor, and also to serve as a safeguard against the Indians. The principal fort, St. Michael, was attacked in 1781 by Don Galvez, when a bomb-shell struck the eastern glacis of Fort St. Bernard, and, in rebounding, blew up the magazine, destroying the principal redoubt, which compelled the garrison to surrender by capitulation.
It is but little more than half a century since Colonel Nichols, a British officer, came to Pensacola, and issued his proclamation, offering a reward of ten dollars each for the scalps of colonists. However, the career of this bold usurper and ambitious adventurer was soon terminated by General Andrew Jackson and his brave men, who marched into the town, then defended by a fleet of seven armed vessels, three forts, block-houses, and batteries of cannon defending the streets. The center column of Jackson’s army was composed of regulars, and presented as formidable a front in appearance and strength as the ancient Grecian phalanx. The battery was stormed by Captain Laval, who, although severely wounded in the engagement, afterward recovered from his injuries. The Spanish Governor, Marinquez, met the American forces, and begged that quarter might be shown the citizens. To this proposition General Jackson acceded, protecting individual property as far as possible. At this time Fort Barrancas was blown up, all the guns being spiked but two. This enabled Colonel Nichols to escape with his fleet. All the fortifications being now destroyed, General Jackson left, after holding the place two days. The Spaniards then commenced building Fort Barrancas, when Colonel Nichols proffered his aid; but the Governor refused, telling him his friend General Jackson would do better.
In 1818 Jackson received information that the Spanish would not permit supplies for his troops to ascend the Escambia Bay, while the Indians were supplied from Spanish stores. The Governor warned General Jackson against making an attack, saying he would be opposed by all their forces; but, with his usual go-ahead zeal, he marched in and took possession of the town without opposition. The Governor had taken refuge in Fort Barrancas, whither Jackson proceeded during the night, and commenced erecting breastworks. The Spaniards fired upon them, which was returned with good effect by a howitzer. In a few hours the fortress surrendered, and, by the terms of capitulation, the garrison was sent to Havana. Soon after Jackson came into possession of Pensacola, he was told that the Spanish Governor, Callavea, was in the act of sending papers relating to land-titles away to Cuba, in direct violation of the treaty. General Jackson demanded these documents, and, upon being refused, he ordered Callavea into the calaboose, but released him on the papers and boxes being returned. Afterward several of the Spanish officers, suffering from outraged feelings, sent a remonstrance to General Jackson on account of this unheard of indignity toward the Spanish Governor. For this movement twelve of them were banished, thus establishing the authority of Old Hickory beyond a doubt. The old camping-ground of General Jackson is still pointed out as historic ground. It was situated on what was known as the Blakely Road, which passes the old sites of St. Bernard and St. Michael.
Pensacola once contained a plaza, which was an ornament to the city and the admiration of all visitors. The grounds were in a high state of cultivation where flourished the orange, lemon, olive, banana, guava, and Japan plum-trees, ornamented with pleasure-walks, where the gay cavaliers promenaded and made love to the beautiful señoritas, where the delicate nonpareil displayed her painted plumage, the gay mocking-bird sang her songs of joy, and the humming-bird sipped honey from nectarine flowers, whose petals perfumed the air with fragrance. But stern want, whose decrees are as unyielding as the Medean and Persian edicts, was staring the Spanish garrison in the face at this time, and the commissary stores being exhausted, the largest portion of these beautiful grounds were sold to furnish the army with supplies. All that remain vacant are the extremities of the old plaza, which form two squares, known as Ferdinand and Seville, that are as barren of ornament as the municipality of means to appropriate for its embellishment.
It is singular that a country whose original settlers were celebrated for their chivalric daring and romance should preserve no vestige of their former characteristics or peculiar nationalities. It is thus with the present appearance of Pensacola. One portion indicates the march of improvement, while the other, near the bay, has a faded appearance of weather-beaten plank, except out on the wharves, where may be seen many new buildings used for various purposes connected with shipping operations. There are no fine blocks of elegant stores among the number, but many one-story houses, some containing two, and a few three.
The old houses now standing are decidedly of Spanish architecture, with the long verandas in front, accessible only at the ends by steps, the jail-like double doors being made of wood, riveted with iron bolts, not designed to look beautiful, but to be very substantial, or resist a siege of small arms. The dormer-windows are frequent, while a few old roofs are covered with tiles. A wide, substantial walk is built through a portion of the town, stopping at no place in particular, but a favorite promenade for ungallant sailors, where they reel like drunken elephants, seven abreast, sometimes elbowing other pedestrians into the marsh. A few brick pavements have been made, but the bricks present their edges and ends uppermost as often as the flat sides, while sand-wading, in many places, is the only alternative, street-crossings being an unknown luxury. Pensacola is almost the only town in Florida where no fabled fount is supposed or represented to exist, whose waters heal all infirmities and rejuvenate declining years—where no tales are told of elysian elegance to fascinate visitors into their houses of entertainment, or invitations given to take strolls on the beach, and breathe the sea-air with its breezy freshness, always warranted more beneficial to the invalid than all other atmospheres that ever fanned a hectic cheek, or had been inhaled by consumptives, that will enable them to recover sooner than any other influence by which they could be surrounded. The principal employment of persons here is maritime, from the fisherman, who spreads his tiny sail and dances on the waves, fearless as a sea-gull, in his bateau that looks only a speck on the waters deep and wide, to the full-rigged ship which plows the angry waves, and “thrills the wanderers of that trackless way.” The prosperity of this place is dependent upon the adventitious condition of the changing and fluctuating trade in other places, together with a demand for their only commodity—lumber. No appearance of pomp in fine turnouts is seen—no matched spans or grand phaetons. Those who ride go in one-horse vehicles, which move noiseless as the midnight assassin, through sandy streets of an uncertain depth. A majority of the people are both plain and practical in all their movements. Their misfortunes seem to have soured them, embittered their lives and saddened their hearts, making them sullen, while others converse as though they had settled into an apathetic despair, mingled with clouds of darkness, and peopled by phantoms of pinching want. This season business is terribly dull. Stevedores without employment are as abundant as plank without purchasers, and uneasy as a mullet out of water. The profession of gambling is well filled, which can be seen by the glare of diamonds and watch-chains on suspicious-looking men, with no vocation but to come here and prey on the hard earnings of poor, unsuspecting sailors. A ship coming in the bay creates as much commotion as a big wreck in Key West. Unoccupied boarding-houses for workingmen are numerous. What is lacking in accommodations can be supplied in charges. There are one or two boarding-houses, called hotels, designed for the better class, charging three dollars per diem. Visitors, or persons of leisure, do not often come here to remain long, consequently no grand hotels for their entertainment. But there is one attractive feature in Pensacola even now, and that is the bountiful supply of rich pine. “What a beautiful fire!” we hear every one exclaim, as the boarders take their seats in the recently-illumined parlor after supper, when all without is dark and drear. Then they give us wood in our rooms, where any one can make a fire in a minute, when sickness drives away sleep. How it lights up the pale faces of our friends, as though the glow of health had suddenly wafted her magic touch over them, dispelling the pallor of disease and marks of suffering! How it softens the gloom of night and diverts our minds with its cheerful blaze, as it permeates every thing like the visit of a bright messenger, when the winds howl as if they were demons from the realms of Erebus! What a cheerful greeting it gives us from the old fire-place, with its burnished massive fender and brass andirons! Then it flashes and faints on the wall, or in the corners, hides in the curtains, to be replaced with another flash, followed by a report like the distant roar of artillery. The Indians loved to dance around its bright light in celebrating their fiendish orgies, or howl their rude songs of welcome for the return of harvest, as the well-filled ears of maize roasted before their camp-fires of resinous wood. With what lingering looks of sadness did they see the last spark waft its tiny ray into the heavens, as the morning dawned and the night-shades fled away, on which they were to bid farewell to the happy home of their birth they loved so well, and relinquished with such reluctance, when they thought of the grand old lightwood fires which had glistened away the gloom of dense forests, or rendered powerless the malaria of swamps, and kept the approach of wild beasts at bay!
All day constantly before our eyes is Ferdinand Park, which manifests visible signs of a decline. Four old Spanish pieces of artillery are planted in the center, and fastened with ropes, to balance the standard-bearer of a powerful nation, and place in position, high in mid-air, a pole, on which to unfurl the ensign of a great country. The park-inclosure is dropping down as quietly as a rose-leaf in May. Here stock ramble to graze with their bells on, presenting a rural landscape of rustic life, and tired, bony old horses stray for sustenance; hogs, with very thin sides and bristling backs, root about for herbage, or roam through the streets, gathering, with eager haste, any thing like a decayed apple or potato, of which some kind-hearted huckster has relieved his stall or cart; while the cows wander in front of dry-goods stores, trying to replenish the well-springs of vitality with stray wisps of straw, bits of paper, or pasteboard, which have been swept out. The lacteals of the poor brutes receive a small amount of sustenance from such an uncertain source of nutritive matter—for that cause nearly everybody in this region uses condensed milk. The William-goats promenade with unrestrained freedom, giving concerts with their loud treble voices, while the refrain is echoed by the young ones, resembling the cries of a baby. If these sights and sounds, with variations, do not always give pleasure to visitors, they break the monotony and furnish a variety.
This town boasts a very substantially-built market-house, the material used being brick. Only a few of the stalls are occupied, as the produce is hauled about the streets in huckster-carts and sold, or kept in stores by provision-dealers. During the lenten season, fishermen go out soon in the morning, and, when they are successful, return singing, by which means those wishing supplies can come and buy; but when they have taken nothing, they row silently to shore, looking as though they had toiled in vain. Sometimes the fish are too large to be conveyed whole, when they are cut up and sold by the pound. Frequently two fishermen are seen carrying a fish suspended between them, a portion of it trailing on the ground. What a triumphal entry they make! What a proud look they have, as they find themselves “the observed of all observers!” They could not be induced to change places with the governor. Smaller fish are carried in tubs, swung on a pole suspended between the shoulders of two very brawny-looking men. They announce their approach by blowing a large ox-horn, which is heard in the streets on Sabbath as other days. The minister, invoking a blessing on his worshiping congregation, is liable to have the interludes filled with the echo of trafficking trumpets. Common fish are cheap. The pompano and red snapper, being the choicest, are held at high prices. Beef and venison are plentiful, but the beef is of rather a sinuous texture. Most vegetables would flourish here during the winter, but, from a lack of enterprise, they are not much cultivated. The only dream of prosperity ever indulged by these people is ships coming in from foreign parts for lumber. One thousand feet from low-water mark in Pensacola Bay is found fresh water, which is obtained by boring or driving iron tubing through the salt water and several strata of earthy deposit. The upper stratum is composed of sediment, the second of quicksand, the third of blue clay, the fourth of coral, the fifth of gravel, in which is found pure freestone water, unadulterated with foreign matter, and clear as crystal. This water is obtained at a distance of seventy feet below the surface of the earth. These fresh-water fountains are of recent date, having made their appearance among other improvements which are constantly being discovered in this progressive age. These wells possess many advantages over the old custom of hauling water from the springs in barrels through the streets by hand, which furnished a means of support for those employed to deliver water on the wharves for sale to ships, it being their only vocation. The barrel was prepared by inserting a piece of wood outside the head, in which were placed iron pivots. Two iron rings were attached to the end of a rope that revolved upon these pivots. The water-hauler threw the rope over his head and shoulders, then marched along with the speed of an Andalusian pony—the barrel following like a cart. A few water-barrels are to be seen rolling about the streets now, but it constitutes only a precarious means of support to the “drawers of water,” when compared with the past.
Porpoises—belonging to the class Phocœena—abound in the vicinity of Pensacola. They range with other monsters of the deep, sporting in the shoals, and playing around vessels anchored near the wharf, at times approaching the shore gentle as cats. They are said to take their prey by strategy, darting under an unsuspecting school of fish, and with one stroke of their tail stunning enough to furnish them a fine repast. The astonished fish is soon swallowed by the porpoise, without perceiving the change that has taken place in his existence, when, instead of searching for nourishment himself, he has commenced to sustain another. Porpoise-oil contains the same properties as sperm, but porpoises are not killed here, they being very harmless, and are said to act as a protection against sharks to persons who bathe or fall in the bay.
The culture of tropical fruits has never been a success in Pensacola, since so much of the timber has been destroyed. The few orange-trees here have a stinted appearance in comparison with those in other portions of the State. A constant strife is going on between the north-west and trade-winds, the former sweeping down from the Rocky Mountains, freighted with frost, which destroys the fruit and foliage of the orange-trees. However, a suitably-arranged grove, with only a southern exposure, would bear under ordinary treatment. Persons now owning bearing-trees say they have been killed down three or four times. The winds are too rude for the banana—it grows here only in summer, with winter sheltering.