Early one Saturday morning Corporals Cohen, Rusk and myself decided upon a trip to St. Augustine. Inspection of quarters was completed at 8.30 a.m. and we immediately proceeded to Jacksonville to take the train south, there being no other duties during the day. The fare to soldiers had been reduced one-half, or 50 cents, which fact enabled large numbers of soldiers to take advantage of the trip. This day was no exception, and the cars were crowded. We went to the front of the train and there found an empty coach, save for two or three negroes. We decided that we were extremely fortunate indeed. The rear was partitioned off for baggage. The conductor happened through and asked us if we could not find room in the rear cars. We were surprised, but answered that we might have found room on the "roof." After he had left it dawned upon us that this was a car portioned off for negroes, as members of this race only came into it, so we very graciously asked those in the car if they had any objections to our staying there. The courtesy took them so much by surprise that they could only stare at us for answer. So we took our seats again and prepared to enjoy ourselves.
After a half hour's wait we were fairly started, only to stop every few miles to sidetrack and allow other trains to pass. These waits became so numerous that it was nearly noon before we reached St. Augustine and were just one and one-half hours behind schedule.
All the way down the forests seemed fresher and the flowers grew more thickly among the pines. The absence of charred, blackened areas was also noticeable.
The city, seen from a distance, reminded one strongly of a city of the Moors, for above the trees rose a bewildering labyrinth of towers and minarets, which carried us back to the charming descriptions in Irving's "Mahomet" and "Granada." We alighted at a very pretty and airy station surrounded by large beds of flowers and tropical plants. Among the many importuning jehus we selected one who took us free to a restaurant. The ebony driver was very loquacious; laughed when we laughed and interspersed gratis information which was highly interesting. We jested at the boys along the streets not so fortunate as we, and tried to cheer them up with the assurance that it was five miles at least to the nearest "grub."
The air was remarkably clear and bracing, and is so all the year round. Every garden seemed a mass of color. Oleanders were everywhere, filling the air with their spicy breath, drooping their great bowers of blossoms over the sidewalks. Every home had its well-kept lawns and shade trees, some with fountains playing enhanced the beauty of the place. The Memorial Presbyterian Church is very handsome, and contains one of the finest organs in the South. H.M. Flagler built this church in 1890 in memory of his daughter, and it is supposed to have cost $250,000. A little to the east is the Baptist church, built a few years later, with its heavy impressive front and tall, square
tower, preserving the sedate architecture of this denomination, while conforming to the general tendency to things Moorish. But here on our right is one of the most magnificent hotels of the South, the Ponce de Leon, which stands alone the most handsome and unique of its kind in the United States. Built upon the style of the Moorish palaces of the fifteenth century, its architecture is at once voluptuous and elegant,—towers and minarets shooting up here and there. Its massive iron gates and chains with spiked balls, heavy oaken doors, courts, balconies, and marbled walks, are richly carved in Moorish figures. The gardens surrounding it are only such as a tropical climate can produce. Stately palmettos and palms shoot up their feathery tops above graceful bananas lazily waving their plumes in the fresh sea breeze; huge masses of oleanders, which here seem to reach their perfection, bending beneath the weight of their blossoms, formed arches of exquisite beauty across the walks; century plants, orange trees with leaves of the softest green imaginable while underneath were clusters of fruit of a still darker color, reminders of a golden harvest. Hydrangeas of enormous size, the leaves of which were entirely hidden by the great tresses of pink and blue flowers,—were scattered profusely in all directions. Roses seemed to grow everywhere, climbing over fences, into trees, up the sides of buildings—handsome ones that are strangers to northerners who have slim purses; and right in the midst of all this beauty of color were playing fountains sending sprays of silver ten and fifteen feet high. It is a veritable Garden of Eden. Henry M. Flagler is the controlling spirit in this beautiful palace, as he is in the other hotels, the massive Cordova and beautiful Alcazar, with their lovely gardens and fountains. Mr. Flagler's influence extends over the greater part of the east coast in hotels and railroads of this famous wintering State.
The older part of the town lies along the water front, just as the Spaniards had planned the city. On our left was an old building formerly used as a barracks, but now devoted to the manufacture of cigars and quite dilapidated. On the right stood a large square building which many times resounded with the laughter and possible braggadocio of the cavalier, for this was the residence of the Governor-General of the Floridas. It is now used as the post-office.