This place has a very good situation, on rather an elevated bank, in a grove nearly composed of live oaks, of which some are full twenty feet in circumference. A bushy kind of palm tree grows here which is called Spanish bayonet, which appears to partake of the nature of the macaw trees. Blakely was founded in the year 1816, by a Mr. Blakely, dead about five years since, and then sold to various speculators. This place was established to injure Mobile, and to draw the commerce of that place away from it. The design has, however, failed of success. Mobile is superior in capital, and Blakely has injured itself alone. Upon the shore stand two large wooden buildings in ruins, the smallest part of them only is rented, and used as stores. On the eminence behind these buildings are placed about twenty wooden houses, of which the largest is the only tavern, and it is really a respectable one. We took our lodging there. The houses are very neatly built, with projecting roofs and piazzas, and surrounded with gardens. Some, however, are deserted, and exhibit the decay of the place. A large wooden edifice two stories high, provided with a cupola, was originally intended for an academy; from the want of scholars, this academy has never been in operation, the building therefore is used as a place of worship, and as a court-house. The number of inhabitants cannot exceed two hundred.
During our ramble it had become dark; the moon was in her first quarter. The air was as warm as in a fine May evening in Germany. All was pleasant and cheerful, and only our recollection that this handsome country was poisonous in summer, produced a discord with the scene. In the evening I sat and wrote in one of the rooms of the tavern with open doors and windows, and heard the sparrow chirp as if it were summer. I had noticed very few sweet orange trees in this part of the country, and the few which I saw were small and young. As I manifested my surprise, the reason was given, that the numerous orange trees which formerly were here, had been all killed in the winter of 1821-22, by a four day’s frost.
Before we commenced our journey the next morning, I found in the earth several pieces of petrified live oak. The mineral riches of this district are not yet explored. I imagine, that a mineralogist, who should here prosecute his researches, might reap a rich harvest.
We hired a two-horse barouche, which was to carry us to Pensacola, sixty-five miles distant from Blakely. In this, we departed about ten o’clock in the morning, well stocked with plenty of provision, which, in this country, so destitute of inns, was considered as a necessary supply. Close to Blakely we ascended a hill, which afforded us a very beautiful view of the town, the bay of Mobile, and of a valley watered by a stream, with the richest prospect of vegetation I ever beheld. The grove before us was full of magnolias of all sizes, of laurels, and an evergreen bush that was called the water oak; and among them all, the most splendid live oaks. Unfortunately this lovely country did not reach very far. Scarcely a short mile from Blakely, the good soil ceased, and the wearisome sand and long-leaved pines began once more. We advanced but thirty miles during the day; a delicious warm state of the weather, however, cheered us. At first we found several plantations which the inhabitants of Blakely, in somewhat easy circumstances, resorted to during the summer, when the yellow fever occupied that place. On some of these plantations, the dry rice, (so called from the fields which produce it lying so high that they cannot be overflowed,) is cultivated. This rice is little inferior to the swamp rice of South Carolina, and will yield fifty bushels to the acre. I regaled myself with the melody of several birds, of which most were robins, birds of passage, which live through the winter in these southern countries, and in the spring, approach the north, there to announce it. I saw also several cranes. To complete the illusion, that it was summer, a number of frogs lent their aid, and croaked loudly from the marshes.
We halted at noon, in a shady place, near a clear brook, and dispatched a part of our provisions, seated on a dry green turf. For the first time in my life, a shade in January was a desirable object. The night overtook us before we reached our lodgings for the night, which we intended to take up at a place called Belle Fontaine. The road was hardly discernible, for it was so little travelled, that grass grew in the tracks, and the stumps of trees were as difficult to avoid, as they were frequent. We risked oversetting more than once. To avoid such an accident, we determined to proceed on foot. We took in this way, a walk of at least six miles, in an unbroken pine forest, inhabited by bears, wolves, and even panthers. At first we had the light of the moon; about nine o’clock it went down, and we had considerable difficulty to keep the road. As the dwellings were scattering from each other, we imitated the barking of dogs, to give them an opportunity to answer in the same language. This succeeded; we heard dogs bark, moved in the direction whence the sound came, and reached about ten o’clock, the desired Belle Fontaine, a log house with two rooms, or cabins, and a cleared opening before it. A man of rather unpromising appearance, the landlord, Mr. Pollard, admitted us, and took charge of our horses. His wife, a pale, sickly looking being, who hardly returned an answer to our questions, was obliged to rise from her bed, to prepare us a supper and sleeping-room. The whole establishment had at first, the look of a harbour for robbers, but there was well roasted venison prepared for us, on a neat table, and tolerable coffee, for which we had, luckily, brought sugar along with us. It was really comfortable, though our chamber remained open the whole night, as there was no door, and only two beds were furnished.
The 12th of January we left our quarters at seven in the morning, and travelled thirty-two miles to Pensacola. Twelve miles from Belle Fontaine brought us to a stand at the Perdido, where we breakfasted at a plantation, situated on the right bank of the river. This stream forms the boundary between Alabama and the territory of Florida, which does not yet contain inhabitants sufficient to entitle it to a reception among the states of the Union. The river is small, its banks sandy, and we crossed it in a poor ferry-boat. On the banks, as generally through the whole of that district, I saw many bushy palms, here called palmattoes. The soil on the whole, was as bad as that we saw yesterday, the growth was pine; there is fresh vegetation only about the springs. The air grew still warmer, we saw a few butterflies. As we approached Pensacola, the pines ceased, and we moved through dwarf oaks. The soil was a deep sand; we passed by a marsh full of water oaks.
Pensacola, which we reached about five o’clock, lies upon a bay of the ocean. It is an ancient Spanish town, and was surrendered by Spain with all Florida, to the United States in 1821. It contains about one thousand inhabitants. We lodged ourselves in Collins’s Hotel, and went, immediately on our arrival, to walk about the town. It is the most miserable place that I have beheld since I crossed the Atlantic. Such Spaniards as possessed any property have left this place, when it was ceded to the United States, and have moved off either to New Orleans, or the island of Cuba. Only the poorest of them have remained. Since that time, the Americans settled here, have, as at Mobile, created a new population. The deepest sand covers the unpaved streets, which are broad, and regularly laid out. Only a few new houses are of brick, they are mostly of wood, and stand at a considerable distance from each other. There is not a single ship in the port. A new market-house of brick is building upon the shore, and not far from it stands the wooden catholic church, the outside of which appears in a forlorn condition. Near the church are the ruins of an old English barrack, which was burnt about four years ago; its two wings were covered by two block houses of logs, which are standing, one of which serves for a custom-house. About the town several block houses have stood, which formerly afforded a good protection against the Seminole Indians, the original inhabitants of this section of country.
In the evening of this day, and on the next morning we received visits from several officers, from Colonel Clinch, commandant of the 4th regiment of infantry, who was posted here with Major Wright and others. Captain Campbell of the Marine Corps, who had the command of the new navy-yard, that was to be established here: some supplies had arrived, and were put in store at Fort Barrancas. As we wished to see this fort, the gentlemen were so polite as to accommodate us with their boats.
I went with Colonel Wool in Captain Campbell’s boat. We had a favourable wind, and spreading two sails we reached fort Barrancas, nine miles by sea from Pensacola, in an hour. On the way we saw a flock of sixteen pelicans. On account of the point of land stretching into the bay, we had to make a circuit; it was called Tartar point, and the new navy-yard is to be upon it. It is thought that it will be commenced in two months. The country about Pensacola and the shores of the bay are the most disagreeable that can be conceived of; nothing but sand heaps dazzling-white like snow. In the bay lies a level island, St. Rosa, with a growth of dwarf oaks. On it had been erected a fort, which was blown up by the English, when they occupied Pensacola in the year 1814, to support the Creek Indians then at war with the United States, and were compelled to evacuate it by General Jackson. The English blew up also a part of Fort Barrancas at the same time, but the Spaniards have reinstated it, although on a smaller scale; thus it remains at present.
The cannon are of brass, English and Spanish. Among the latter I observed two very fine twenty-four pounders, cast in Seville. Nothing can be more unhandy than the Spanish gun-carriages, they have wheels, which at the outside measure four feet in diameter.